


That American Dream (it'll get you every time if you're not careful)

by DustToDust



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 11:06:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 34,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustToDust/pseuds/DustToDust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone who matters knows that Natasha and Clint come as a set. Few people are actually prepared for what that means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ~~Yeah, pairings will come about and will be tagged as they become relevant.~~ Noted now on request. There's no warning for the massive thought dump coming in the future though.

Steve Rogers has a studio apartment in Brooklyn. It's something he's fought hard for, both with SHIELD and Tony to rent. The neighborhood isn't the greatest, but Clint's seen worse. Hell, Clint's lived in worse himself. Would still be living in worse if his block hadn't been flattened in the invasion leaving him with the tricky dilemma of choosing between the sterile shoebox of SHIELD barracks or the private-less opulence of Stark's tower.

He couch surfs for a while while debating the two different kinds of hell, but the number of couches he can crash on has drastically decreased in ways that Clint doesn't like to think about too hard. The fact that he ends up at Steve's place within a week isn't a surprise to him.

Natasha has a small place tucked away in the basement of a building no one but Clint knows she owns. The only reason he knows she has a place outside of the barracks is a combination of his paranoia and the fact that she _let_ him find it. Nat's place is hers though, and Clint respects her silent request to leave it that way. There are few enough things that she actually _wants_ that he goes out of his way to respect her space. Even now he won't go to her.

Coulson has an apartment too. A nice place near a well maintained park and the most ridiculously yuppie string of two table bistros that could be found in the city. The situation with Coulson is still complicated though. Fury is carrying on like the reports of the man's death aren't wildly exaggerated, and that some of his top agents haven't been around the day he came in a little puffier --swollen actually-- around his good eye than usual and started using SHIELD resources to find very specific Captain America trading cards. Clint would have crashed Coulson's totally unoccupied wink-wink-nudge apartment except the _Look_ he'd gotten the one time Nat and him had strolled in to see that Coulson was in fact breathing promised unholy things if either of them messed up whatever new op he and Fury have cooked up.

Sitwell had cheerfully kicked Clint to the curb after four days of constant bickering that'd been fun for them both, but threatened to turn too violent when they started debating whether or not Severus Snape was a bad or good guy. He stayed with Hill for one night only. Not because of any conflict with either of them, but because she was a deep sleeper who lived under what sounded like a punk mariachi band made of vampires who only practiced from midnight to 5 AM. Clint had shown up on Fury's doorstep, not expecting to sleep there, but just to see that one vein in his head pulse. The fuzzy slippers had been a bonus, and Clint is still duly impressed by the man's ability to look threatening while wearing them and a ratty robe.

Going to Steve hadn't even been a thought until Nat saw him eying one of the homeless shelters and gave him the man's address. 

"I don't mind the couch, really," Steve says, even as Clint spreads out what is probably half of the man's own bedding on the couch, and normally he'd be all for taking advantage until the other person wises up and starts saying no. But that couch!

It's an insanely ugly grandma couch that still smells a little like the cheap, undefinable powder old women buy all the time, but is hands down the most comfortable thing Clint has ever had the pleasure to sit on. He's not giving that thing up without a down and dirty fight. Not even to Captain America, or his kinda dorky alter-ego whom Clint found himself liking more and more off the field. "Nah, you wouldn't even fit, Cap. Let me have it tonight."

"Alright," Steve hovers uncertainly for a while as Clint plops a thin pillow down. Clint watches the man for a moment as he snaps a blanket over the couch.

Steve Rogers looks lost for what to do next, and that only reminds Clint that the man has only been in this new age for a few months. Clint can almost see him trying to figure out if what he's done is actually good enough or acceptable in this time as opposed to what he _thinks_ is good enough and acceptable.

"Seriously, I'm fine," Clint falls onto the couch feeling the cushions mold around him just perfectly as he gives Steve a grin. "Thanks for letting me stay the night."

"It's not a problem. I'm not really used to being on my own like this. I always- well, it was nice having company?" Steve grins back and Clint nearly swears out loud. Would if it wouldn't make Steve think something's wrong. Because Clint can read in that smile how much he means those words.

Steve Rogers is _lonely_ and lost in a world that probably wouldn't make much sense to him even if the city wasn't recovering from the devastation of the invasion. SHIELD has minimal contact with the man outside of briefings and the few missions that they'd managed to talk him into. Tony is Tony, and could go from smothering to MIA on the drop of a dime. Banner is holed up in the depths of Tony's tower and only the occasional report of sightings at a nearby tea shop keeps SHIELD informed of the man's continued presence in New York. Clint doesn't see the scientist wandering too far from his new cage willingly. Nat-

Well, Nat has her own problems with socializing, but Clint takes it as a good sign that she gave him Steve's address.

"I get you," Clint says as he stretches out on the couch. Folding his hands over his stomach and enjoying the fact that it's just long enough to hold him. He's nowhere near tired, but things are heading towards awkward and he really doesn't want that right now. "I'll get dinner tomorrow,"

"Sure," Steve accepts gracefully and turns into his own bed. Flicking off the few lamps until the only light is coming through the windows. More than enough for both of them to see by. Clint closes his eyes and just listens as Steve settles into the bed in the corner. It creaks and groans under his weight. The sheets rustle until he finds an acceptable position to sleep in. Then, the only sound is the ever present sound of the city and their soft breathing.

It's 10 PM and Clint is wide awake. Clint opens his eyes and studies the shadows cast by the light outside on the ceiling. He doesn't move because the noise might jolt Steve out of sleep, and, despite any evidence to the contrary, Clint knows how to be a good house guest. He kinda wishes there were a wall between them, or even a screen. Something that'd make him feel less guilty about moving around. Clint stretches his fingers, one by one, and decides to deal with it. It's not like he hasn't had to stay still in worse conditions for hours on end before.

Twenty minutes of silence later the bed creaks and Steve laughs. His voice is low and rueful, "I don't actually get to sleep before midnight most days."

"Stark'd have a heart attack if he heard you say that," Clint squints as Steve clicks on a small lamp attached to the wall with an arcane pattern of duct tape. "But, yeah, I'm usually up til one or two most nights."

"Tony has some really strange ideas about what people used to be like," Steve manages to wince and grin at the same time. "Television?"

"Why the hell not," Clint kicks the blanket away and swings his legs off to sit up. 

The TV on the wall is big enough that it almost certainly came from Tony, but the minimal interface when Steve turns it on and flips through the channels speaks a lot more about Banner's involvement than anything else. Steve's got the hang of it, and Clint wonders just how much time the man spends watching it.

"It helps," Steve says as he settles on something that looks vaguely science fiction, and completely 80's. "I think I've learned more about the world through movies and programs than anything else."

"That's kind of a terrifying thought," Clint eventually says after watching a man twitch strangely while being shot. He hates scenes like this, he's shot too many people to be fooled by squibs and fake blood. "Not surprising, but still terrifying."

Clint feels Steve's shrug and decides to see how much of the world Steve has actually seen in the morning. Maybe correct a few things that he _knows_ Steve has to have picked up wrongly from the media. For that night though, they watch late night movies until they both pass out on Steve's comfortable couch.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coffee suicides are a thing and they're not usually as good as soda suicides.

Clint wakes up to the smell of coffee and the crinkle of a bag. It's a familiar enough smell and sound that he doesn't tense up when he opens his eyes to see Natasha sitting at the small corner table in the kitchen area of Steve's studio. He stretches and is pleasantly surprised at the distinct lack of pain he experiences. For having fallen asleep upright on a couch that is.

Seriously, this couch.

Steve is curled up over the other arm. Oblivious to Nat and looking like he's trying to contort himself into a smaller ball than his mass allows. Clint flicks the corner of the blanket he'd been hoarding over the man and gets up to take a piss.

The bathroom is small, but at least has walls around it. Clint's seen some lofts that were completely open.

Nat's working on a braided bun dripping with icing and walnuts when Clint wanders out to claim his coffee. He looks through the plain bag and finds a danish that looks like it might be apple or pear. It's good, but not familiar. Not one of Nat's usual choices for breakfast then. Which means she either saw something interesting or the closest Starbucks wasn't open for some reason. It probably has something to do with the cinnamon flavored cup of death she slides his way. It's sludgy from the amount of spice in it and if anything else made it into the mix Clint can't taste it past the burn of cinnamon. She likes to mix things together in coffee that has no right being in caffeine and making Clint drink it.

They eat in silence for a while before Clint nudges the third coffee cup pointedly.

Nat shrugs and with that little bit of movement Clint knows he's been set up. For what, he's not sure yet, but he does know that Nat had sent him to Steve for _reasons_.

Steve makes a noise before Clint can even think about laying into her for answers. They both turn to watch Steve blink himself awake. He looks disgruntled and indignant to be conscious. His hair is sticking up a little and he has an epic case of pillow face from sleeping on a seam of the couch. He stretches out fully with another grunt and a jaw cracking yawn. It's one of the most hilarious things that Clint's seen in a while, and he debates taking a picture just to show Coulson his idol looking like every other sleep deprived person in the world.

It's obvious when his brain comes online enough to remember he isn't alone.

Nat makes an amused noise as Steve whips his head around and spots them. The sheepish and embarrassed look turns horrified when he sees her siting at the table. Steve's up and in a shirt faster than any person just woken up should be able to be. Super serum or not.

Clint points the three bites he has left of his danish at the third cup and says, "Nat brought breakfast."

"Thanks," Steve's regaining his cool by the second, though he's still red in the face and picking nervously at the boxers he'd unselfconsciously worn around Clint the night before. Clint'd bet a month's salary he's reminding himself that being caught in his underwear by a woman isn't that big a deal in the future.

Clint would correct that assumption but he's sitting at a table with Nat in his rattiest pair of boxers that'd been washed too thin about two years ago. The two of them are a special case and really shouldn't be used by anyone as a base for normal, but Clint's given up trying to explain how they work to others. They get it or they don't and it's not either of their problems if they don't.

Steve leans awkwardly against a stove that honestly doesn't look like it's been touched and alternates sips of whatever concoction Nat had bought with a cinnamon bun. Clint finishes off his cinnamon bomb and licks the last of the icing off his fingers. Nat is sipping her perfectly plain coffee and looking at a spot on the wall with the far off look of people who don't want to be bothered staring at nothing in public. Steve is looking a little too closely into his cup and trying hard not to appear as uncomfortable as he really is.

"So," Clint casts out for something, anything. All the plans and ideas that'd seemed like such a good idea last night really weren't looking so good in the light of day. "You been to the MOMA yet?"

Steve's blank look is answer enough before he opens his mouth to ask, "The what?"

"It's a museum," Nat offers. The look she sends Clint is amused and warning all at once. "It specializes in modern art."

"Oh, no, I haven't," and Steve looks very interested in things outside of his cup. _Artist_ , the Coulson voice in Clint's head reminds him as Steve begins to look a little hopeful. "I'd like to though. If you're not-"

"We're not," Clint says nearly at the same time as Nat. He sends her a grin, already planning out the day. Art's never been his thing and museums honestly make him cringe with how stuffy and quiet they are. Plus, modern art's never been his thing. He spends too much time looking at blobs on canvas wondering why he couldn't make thousands for flinging paint.

"I'll get dressed," Steve sets his cup down on the stove, and Clint can tell it's still mostly full as the man grabs some clothes and retreats to the bathroom.

"Modern art, really?" Nat says in a low voice that probably won't carry through the walls. "Do you really want to throw him off the deep end like that?"

"I didn't hear you objecting," Clint got up and picks up the clothes he'd worn the night before. The jeans are still good and a quick sniff tells him the t-shirt isn't too bad. He's going to have to look into buying more clothes soon, or just resign himself to constant trips to a launderette. "Besides, Cap does best when thrown off the deep end."

Nat's smile is dangerous and makes even Steve pause when he comes out. Smart man.


	3. Chapter 3

Disappointingly, Steve takes the MOMA better than either of them thought he would.

He doesn't look baffled by the blobs of paint or the random lines drawn on paper. He observes each piece with the kind of silent respect Clint just can't manage. The pop art gets the first real smile from Steve, and Clint ends up wandering behind as Nat starts talking about men named Lichtenstein and Jasper Johns. Clint doesn't mind the bright colors or simple lines as much, but he still wonders why people would pay so damn much money for what looks like enlarged comic book panels.

It's only when he catches the words _neo dadaism_ coming from Nat's mouth that Clint has a brain wave and realizes exactly what this whole thing is about.

Nat's never been interested in art. Not the painted or sculpted or whatever kind anyway. She likes music and dance and plays, but the art around them now has never been interesting for her. Not enough for her to go out and learn about the movements or techniques that she's oh so blithely spouting off to a clearly interested Steve. The thoroughness of her knowledge doesn't surprise Clint. She's had to memorize more for even less interesting subjects for missions before, and will have to do it again in the future. Clint knows she's capable of learning anything.

It's just that she only usually goes out of her way like that for missions.

Clint stops looking at the art and starts paying attention to Nat.

Nat's walking easily in two-inch heeled boots. A slight sway to her step that emphasizes the sway of her hips and the cinch of her waist. She smiles freely and laughs a little when Steve says something that may or may not be funny. She reaches up and toys with loose strands of hair occasionally. Pulling and curling the strands around her fingers. She's the very picture of a pretty young woman flirting with an attractive man.

Steve looks as confused as Clint isn't anymore, and Clint wants to go up and pat his head. Tell him he's doing a good job sensing something out of the ordinary, because the woman walking next to him isn't Nat.

Nat stalks or strides where ever she goes. A relentless stride that threatens to run right over anything in her way. Her smiles are a sharp slash across her face and can make anyone sane turn tail and run. She doesn't fidget or move without purpose, can in fact be as still as Clint waiting for the perfect shot most days. Natasha is as far away from the giggly woman towing Steve from exhibit to exhibit as one can get.

Clint steps up next to the two and deliberately bumps up against Nat before walking into a small side room that's dark and showing a silent film. No one is in there and he tries to puzzle out what's going on in the minutes it takes Nat to ditch Steve and come in. The easy smile is gone and her shoulders are tense.

"That how your tastes are running these days?" Clint doesn't do her the disservice of easing into it. "Captain America? Really?"

"You object?" Nat crosses her arms and arches one eyebrow. Her feet slide apart as she balances herself perfectly on the heels. Ready to dodge or attack at a seconds notice. The flirty mask is dropping away as he watches his partner come back to herself.

"Nope, can't say that I do," hell, Clint's sure that there isn't anyone in the country who'd object to anything about Captain America, or even Steve Rogers. "But I don't really think he's liking the act, Nat. You're confusing the man. You remember that he's _seen_ you fight, right?"

Nat stalks across the room and stops in front of the projector. Her shadow's cast across the wall and Clint can't see her face at all anymore. He doesn't need to see it though. Nat's face never shows anything she doesn't want it to show, and he's learned to take all his cues from her body and voice.

Nat's stiff and still in a way that screams disappointment and/or disgust. The thread of frustration in her voice lets him know it's all directed at herself, "That is a problem, yes."

Clint hums, tuneless as he watches the flickering images around Nat's shadow. Scenes of beauty and life happening around a solid black shadow that exists but is untouched by it all. And that's everything that most people have to know about Nat. She doesn't do emotions, she doesn't do love, she doesn't do relationships. Except for when she does.

Clint knows exactly how long it's been since Nat last felt like making an effort to connect with someone this way. Beyond putting on an act, using them, and discarding them while she fades into the night. Nat's always been the master of one night stands. It says something about Steve that he's brought out this desire for more in Nat after such a short time.

It wasn't easy, the first time she did it. Clint remembers all too well the way Nat was around him when she maneuvered him into bed three years into their partnership. The way she'd switch from the competent and scary as fuck woman he'd brought in to this bubbly cardboard cut-out so quickly his head never got a chance to stop spinning. The mind blowing sex on top of it hadn't helped either.

It'd almost broke them until they called it off.

Clint offers Nat a smile and asks, "You want me to throw something at you each time you turn this into a mission? Because I can do that if you're going to play ditzy red-head #5 for the rest of the day."

He's not entirely joking. He has a program/map thingy. Cover sheet, not quite heavy enough on it's own but he can make do with it. Spitballs are quick, easy, and just annoying enough to get through to Nat whenever she tried pulling an act out.

"I'm using #3," Nat shakes off her mood and turns far enough away from the shadows for Clint to see the glare she's giving him as she walks out. "Honestly, Clint, don't you pay any attention?"

They find Steve in front of a case holding what looks like two vacuum cleaners as a far too skinny college student expounds on the _meaning_ of the lint stuck in the bottom one. Steve's got a tiny, polite smile on his face but he's also eying the room's exit with the kind of calculation that Clint usually only sees on missions. Nat steps up her pace and neatly inserts herself between the two. Her arm threading through Steve's as she pulls him away without looking at the girl. "I want to see the gardens."

Her statement is blunt and just this side of demanding, and Steve looks relieved as he gives in to it.

Clint follows after the two and notes that the girl doesn't actually seem phased to have lost her audience. She's still talking about the artist's past and how it relates to the vacuums as Clint turns the corner. They manage to make it through the rest of the museum, and Clint ends up only having to nail Nat with two spitballs.

Steve only gives Clint a slightly puzzled look when he catches sight of the second shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be clear; Mandy Blane is an 19-year-old freshman who needed an art class for her general studies and thought modern art would be cool to study. Turns out she didn't find it as interesting as sleeping in a whole extra hour every Tuesday and Thursday. As a result she's in danger of flunking unless she can ace her report on a written paper of a piece in the MOMA and the artist who made it. She's been mainlining coffee beans and Monster in an attempt to finish her paper and thus has no real idea who she's talking to anymore when Steve wanders up. She also has no idea why she's talking to people other than the fact that the sound of her own voice keeps her awake enough to keep writing. Mandy later gets an A- on her paper which is just enough to squeak her way through to a passing grade.


	4. Chapter 4

"I respect Steve," Nat says as she launches herself up over an outcrop on the wall. Her fingers grasp a ledge and she quickly hauls herself up into a more stable position. "I also want to climb all over him and rub my face against his chest."

Clint grunts as he stretches out over a smooth expanse of wall that has no handholds. Trying to see if he can make it or if he has to back down and go around the area. "So why don't you just do that?"

"Because I respect him," Nat rests on a half-inch ledge and waits for him. "And so do you. Steve doesn't need to be used and discarded."

"No," Clint gets enough of a grip in a crack that probably wasn't meant to be used and scrambles up quickly before he can loose it. Nat's flexing her fingers as Clint makes the same ledge she's on. He looks for the next handhold and pushes as hard as he's ever dared with Nat. "Why do anything about it though? Seems like you're going to be paying a lot just to get him in the sack."

An understatement. Steve isn't a casual lay in any sense of the word. Oh, Clint doesn't think he's the straight-laced, wait-until-marriage, keep-'em-bare-foot-and-pregnant type of man that most of the world seems to think he is. He does think that Steve is the type to want actual relationships that don't solely revolve around a bed or the nearest convenient surface. Nat's normally a bit of smoke on the horizon when it comes to those types of men, but she's not distancing herself here. She's actively looking to get herself into an actual relationship.

"I respect him," Nat repeats and launches herself upward. Attacking the wall with the same ferocious intent she gives to dead men who don't know their time is near. Clint follows her up. Keeping pace to hear her soft words. They have the room to themselves, but that means very little in SHIELD. "He's attractive, he can keep up with me, and with enough prompting he can learn to not underestimate me. I could do worse."

"Of course," because the world might end if Nat admitted there might be more to it than basic lust and pure practicality. Nothing at all to do with the tricky emotions that she likes to believe were burned out of her when she was a child. Clint rubs his forehead against his arm, brushing away a drop of sweat before propelling himself upward. "You sure about this though? You can't exactly end this like a mission."

"Yes, I can," Nat slows down to give him a scornful look as she disagrees. Which is fair enough, he thinks. She _can_ end a relationship with anyone by disappearing never to be seen again. Steve, SHIELD, Clint. She can end it at anytime, because she has the _choice_ to do so now.

It'd been one of the things he'd emphasized when talking the edgy Black Widow into signing up with SHIELD all those years ago.

"Yeah," Clint reaches the top with Nat and swings up onto the small platform. His muscles are warm and loose from the climb and he feels ready for something challenging. "But it'd be a dick move."

Nat twists fluidly, her spine making one loud crack as she follows his gaze up to the metal rafters of the room. Nat jumps and grabs onto a metal bar, flipping up onto the four inch bar that runs the length of the room. Clint watches for any swaying but the bars are steady enough so he follows. The rafters stay still even with Clint's added weight.

"I don't plan on it," _but I will if I need to_ , goes unsaid as she watches Clint jump experimentally. Both of them gauging the sturdiness of the structure.

"So, you're saying I should give him the shovel talk? Just in case," Clint smirks as Nat produces a small knife and tosses it at his head harder than she needs to. Clint catches it and thumbs the edge. Sharp but not Nat's preferred razor edge. A practice knife dulled just enough that any cuts won't hurt like an utter bitch.

"I was never allowed to do that with your people," Nat produces her own knife and flips it over her fingers as she slides back into a crouch.

"Didn't stop you from doing it anyway," Clint says kicking out at one of the struts holding the rafter up. It vibrates worryingly but Clint figures SHIELD only has itself to blame if their building breaks from a little bit of practicing. "I still talk to Bobbi, Nat."

"Bobbi's exaggerating," Nat snipes in a tone that's all sorts of pissy. The two women had never gotten on well even before Clint had tried to make something more out of his relationship with Bobbi. "I only warn people off _after_ they leave you."

Which went a long way to explaining the abrupt disappearance of the few people he'd tried actually dating. But still, the reminder that he's always the one left in the dump kinda stings. "Ow, Nat. You really wounded me there."

Nat lashes out. Swift and brutal and Nat's version of a heartfelt apology. Clint accepts it by flipping around one of the struts and kicking her in the chest. Conversation over. They don't talk again until they've managed to break enough struts to make the rafters too unstable to support their weight.


	5. Chapter 5

The problem is that Clint can't just threaten Steve's life over a relationship he isn't even aware is closing it's jaws slowly around him. It's just not sporting, and really no fun unless he knows why Clint's brought out a butterfly knife. So, the only way he'll get to have his shovel talk is by getting both Steve and Nat on the same level.

Something that'll take three times longer than it should if he leaves Nat alone to manipulate Steve into it, and that is what she's doing because manipulation is as easy and natural as breathing to Nat. It's control for her, and he knows she's going to be clutching at any scrap she can manage as she eases her way into something new.

Clint's not paying any attention to the baseball game on TV. He's never been very into sports. Not like Steve obviously is if the way he tenses and relaxes with each play is any indication. Clint looks over and sees that Steve's only holding a slice of pizza near his mouth, his attention focused fiercely on the screen.

"Nat was talking about seeing a movie tomorrow," which is a complete lie, but Nat will roll with it. She'll probably only punch him somewhere delicate once before taking off with the chance.

Steve grunts as men in impeccably clean uniforms run around a diamond. A good thing going by the broad grin on Steve's face as a commercial comes on. "Sorry, what?"

Clint thinks that Steve would fit in perfectly at college. He's the very image of the nice-guy frat brother in jeans and a t-shirt instead of his usual button downs and slacks. A can of Coke balances on his thigh and some pizza sauce sticks to the corner of his mouth. It's an image that doesn't quite fit with the soldier he knows Steve is.

Even though it really should fit.

"Movie," Clint digs out the tickets he'd gone out of his way to buy and flicks them at Steve. Managing to wedge them under the can without spilling it. "1500 tomorrow. Can you make it?"

"Sure," Steve squints at the tickets. "Three? Is Agent Romanoff coming too?"

"Natasha," Clint interjects. "Leave the agent thing for the field. You can call her Nat, Tasha, or even Natty if you're feeling a little suicidal."

"Well, I don't want to," Steve gets that pinched look that says he's trying to reconcile two different things in his mind, "I don't want to _presume_. We worked well in battle, but that doesn't mean-"

"Yeah it does," Clint cuts in because it doesn't matter what he's going to end that sentence with. "She likes you. You're allowed to call her by her name. Trust me."

Steve looks pleased and a little hopeful. Clint almost feels like he's back in fifth grade. Passing along a note from Joey Newell to Mary Lou that asked, "Do you like _like_ me? Circle yes or no."

Clint takes a swig of his going flat Coke and lets everything just sit for a bit before prodding harder into the unknown. "You know, Nat really doesn't like very many people. It's hard for her to trust others enough to be herself."

"Well, I'm honored?" The game is on again, but Clint's still got Steve's full attention. "You kind of say that like it's a bad thing though. Should I be worried?"

"That'd probably be the smart thing to do," Clint says, chewing on his crust and eyeing the last slice in the box before him. He wants it, because the place Steve got the pie from knows the perfect balance of sauce to cheese, but he also knows he'll pay for the heavy cheese dish in the morning. And the afternoon, and probably a little after that too.

"You two have know each other for a while," Steve cautiously points out. Feeling his way with the not-question like a guy who knows when he might be poking into something sensitive.

"Yeah," Clint says but doesn't elaborate. They'd both known about the other long before SHIELD was more than a rumor for either of them, but they didn't really _know_ each other until after Clint sighted down her vital spots through a scope. So an exact time estimate is a headache that they both try to avoid. "Don't think there's anyone who knows me better than her. Or the other way around."

"I see," Steve's looking back at the screen, but Clint bets he's not really watching it. He looks thoughtful in a way that Clint's all too familiar with.

"Why? You want to know something?" Clint relaxes back into the couch and tries to look approachable or whatever. Questions are normal when people first meet Nat, and Clint's grown used to being the number one source of answers on her. It relieves Nat from the duty of having to explain herself and keeps most people from doing anything too stupid.

Steve shakes his head though. "No, I can ask Ag- _Natasha_ myself."

"Alright," Clint agrees and makes a show of watching a guy swinging a bat until Steve's attention gets sucked into the game again.

The signs seem positive, but Steve's a good guy. Nice because that's what he _does_. Clint's still behind on wrapping his mind around Nat wanting more from the man, so he's not as objective as he can be in reading the man. He could be reading everything wrong, but Steve --even as he nearly jumps as the camera pans up over the crowd and the men run around the diamond-- is very careful not to lose or ruin the tickets in any way.


	6. Chapter 6

Nat stomps down on his foot hard enough to make him limp the whole way to the theater, but she also walks the whole way with her arm threaded through Steve’s. Clint counts it as a win in his favor.

They manage to talk about pleasant little nothings for exactly three minutes before devolving into trading war stories. Nat doesn’t need to be reminded to leave the masks behind when she’s detailing all the ways she’s used high heeled shoes to take down a target. Steve winces at a few of Nat’s more gruesome ways, but seems more impressed than anything else.

Clint doesn’t actually creep in on Nat and Steve. They all walk into the theater together, and Clint lags behind the two in the confusion of the snack counter line. Steve’s head starts turning when they reach the ticket taker. Clint waves them forward and lets a couple more groups ahead of him in line while he pretends to debate between popcorn and nachos. He gets both, of course, and by the time he makes it into the theater it’s crowded enough for him to justify taking a seat in the back.

Steve’s head turns again when the lights start to dim, and he’s saying something to Nat. Clearly getting ready to get up and look for him. Clint fishes out some unpopped kernels from his bucket and nails the same spot on Steve’s neck three times in a row. Steve swings around and catches sight of him before the lights go out. It takes a few seconds for Clint’s eyes to adjust and when he does he can see Steve’s settled back down.

The movie is some kind of drama that Clint hasn’t heard of before and he loses the plot fast. More interested in demolishing his nachos and keeping track of Nat who eases her way into Steve’s space through the course of the movie. Probably using the pretext of explaining the few things he doesn’t quite get to get closer until it looks like she’s cuddling up to him. Clint fires off a text to her, ignoring the snotty look he gets from a woman three seats down. His phone’s on silent, and she’s too far to be bothered by the light, there's no way it's bothering her.

_Do the yawn and stretch_

Nat shifts slightly. Her head tilting down for a brief second, and that’s all the reaction he gets. He’s going to pay for that one later, but he accepts the future pain and snickers into his nachos. Ignoring the dirty looks he gets for that too.

~

Clint catches up with Nat and Steve as the theater empties out. Nodding along as they discuss some plot point about the movie that Clint had missed in favor of a nap half way through. Steve doesn’t seem to notice as Clint steers them away from the apartment. Going further away to a series of bars he’s vetted with Nat over the years.

She vetoes Clint’s first choice with a sharp shake of her head, and Clint agreeably bumps karaoke back down the list of things that Steve must be exposed to. His second choice is a block down the street. A sports bar, and for Nat’s sake Clint hopes there’s not a baseball game playing tonight.

There isn’t, but Steve still seems pleased with the setting. Leaving Clint and Nat to find a table while he goes to get the first round.

"I will end you," Nat says, low and almost pleasant sounding, "if you ever send me such cheesy advice ever again. How you keep attracting people is a mystery to me."

"Innate charm and good looks," Clint says as they expertly snag a table just as a couple get up to leave. It’s not exactly crowded but the table is in a corner. A prime location for two assassins and one soldier teetering on the brink of PTSD. Sure, Steve doesn’t show many of the classic signs, but Clint’s noticed enough after living with the man for a few days to connect the dots on his own.

It’s a hazard of what they do.

"I’ll give you one of the two," Nat snorts before sliding into the middle seat. Leaving the one on her right for Steve who’s coming with some bottles and what Clint hopes is a basket of fries.

Steve doesn’t even look at the two seats that’ll leave his back to the room and kicks the chair next to Nat out so he can sit with enough room to roll away and not get tangled up. He looks a little sheepish as he lays everything out. “I have no idea what half of the drinks are even meant to be here.”

He gives Nat a bottle with a tree on it that matches the one he keeps for himself before pushing a plainer bottle with an unrecognizable label towards Clint. The smell hits him and Clint almost laughs as he pulls the root beer closer. Because, of course Steve would pick up a few of _Clint’s_ habits as well.

Nat’s smiling in that way that only reaches her eyes when she recognizes the bottle. Clint does drink. When he has to, or when not drinking would be more of a hassle than it’s worth. Given the choice though he’ll pass. An alcoholic asshole of a father and brother were more than enough for Clint to decide he’s better off not getting drunk all that often.

"Trial and error mostly," Clint snags a few fries and reaches out to tug a menu that’s been under Steve’s arm closer.

"It changes a lot," Nat says as she sips from her bottle. Lips pursed in the way she gets when she can't quite tell if she likes something. "Usually the really good drinks don’t get popular enough and get discontinued."

There's steak on the menu. Clint eyes the tempting picture even though he knows better than to trust a bar with anything more complicated than burgers. He reaches for more fries as he tries to talk himself out of it and looks up in surprise when he only feels a few rolling around the bottom of the basket. "What the-?"

Steve looks a little sheepish and there's a sheen of grease on his fingers when he shrugs. "I didn't expect the movie to last so long."

Nat's smiling. Another menu tapping on the table top with a touch of impatience, "You're the one who bought out the snack counter, Clint."

"Alright, alright," Clint waves at one of the waitresses going from table to table and gets a nod in return. He closes his menu. Deciding to just get whatever Nat's getting. They're in the US, the chances of her getting something completely disgusting is almost nil. "Don't blame me because you two didn't prepare properly."

"Well we would have if you'd told us anything about the movie," Steve rebukes, but he's grinning as he says it. Snagging the last few fries Nat hasn't already eaten.

Clint makes an indignant noise as he's easily ganged up on. He has a sudden flash of how the future might be, but can't find it in himself to regret it when Steve laughs and Nat's lips quirk up in her real smile.


	7. Chapter 7

"You’re pushing," Nat says and narrows her eyes at Clint. Her lips stiff and twitching with the obvious urge to snarl.

Clint doesn’t even try to hide his own snarl as he tenses in the chair across from her. Preparing himself to either block an attack or loose one of his own. It can go either way at this point. “And you’re stalling!”

It’s been a month. A month of dinners and movies and outings. They’ve been fun. Clint’s enjoyed the hell out of himself, and it’s obvious Steve has too. Nat’s harder to read. She may or may no have really enjoyed herself, and she’s not giving him much to guess with. Still circling and leading instead of reaching out and _grabbing_ what she wants. It’s a mission attitude, not a Nat one.

Clint’s getting tired of playing chaperone though. He’s never had the patience Nat has when it comes to things like this, his attitude has always been to never wait just in case shit goes bad before he can do anything. He can’t just beg off from any of the not dates though. Not without risking Nat sliding back into bad behaviors. Steve’s also getting confused again. The man knows something’s up, seems to be able to read the tension between the two of them, and obviously doesn’t know what to do about it. Not if the puzzled look he’d given them both that morning is anything to go by.

Nat goes loose and pliant with a sharply muttered curse. She turns sideways in the chair and brings her knees up to wrap her arms around them. Tightly. It’s a vulnerable position for her. One that Clint knows she can explode out of at a moments notice with wounded fury the moment someone’s stupid enough to think vulnerable might equal weakness in her.

Clint lets her brood and goes back to the kinda stale doughnuts she’d brought for breakfast that morning before Steve took off for a run. They’ve got a bit of time before he comes back, not very sweaty or out of breath and with a bag of groceries or something he picked up on his ever changing route.

"It’s surprisingly hard," Nat eventually admits. Frustration clear in her voice if not her face. "How do you do it?"

"Blind stupidity," Clint quotes Nat’s favorite description of anything he does, and it get’s a glance from her that isn’t as hostile as it looks. Clint shrugs because it’s as good an answer as anything. He’s always thrown himself head first into his relationships. Knowing it was going to hurt. If not immediately then sometime in the future, and that’s something he’s always prepared for. It sucks, but that’s the price to be paid. "You suck it up and accept that you’re falling, Nat," he ignores her scornful look as he skirts a little close to implying things she’s been hotly denying for as long as he’s known her. That she’s human too. "You accept that it’s going to hurt, and that it won’t end you. That it’s _worth_ it for however long it's going to last."

It’s not the best supportive speech he could give, but it’s the one he feels is the most true. Nat’s always preferred honesty over sympathy anyway. She's seen him crash and burn far too often to believe any sappy speech anyway. Has picked him up far too often with only a shake of her head at the pain he's put himself through. Never quite understanding why he did it. Over and over again. She's trying to though. Clint can see that in her now. The struggle to reconcile the risk of opening herself up like she needs to with the possibly fleeting rewards. Clint can't make that decision for her, but he can push when he thinks she needs it and sit patiently while she deals.

She’s uncurled herself by the time Steve comes in. Already talking about a street fair and not noticing the way Clint gives Nat a pointed look before agreeing to check it out.

~

Clint lets himself get lost in the crowded streets exactly as much as he wants. He only catches glimpses of Nat and Steve when he occasionally circles back, and Nat looks like herself each time. Steve looks like he’s having the time of his life, and he smiles wide when he looks down at Nat to say something. Clint makes a point to nudge Nat in the back each time he gets close to them. She kindly doesn't stick a knife in him in return.

He forges ahead once he’s had his fill of fried food and sticky sweet treats. Reaching the main attraction of the event in a small park absolutely _teeming_ with people. The crowd listens and dances as a stage is filled with musicians. Different bands playing a weird mix of blues and jazz. He watches as a man playing saxophone jumps down to wander off in the crowd and someone else gets up to take his place. It’s a rotating line up that seems to work well enough. It's not the best music, but no one seems to mind one bit.

Clint circles the park and finds his way up the fire escape of one of the apartment buildings. He climbs up, getting nods and looks from residents who’re spending the day hanging out on the rusty landings as he heads for the roof. There’s a group of young people gathered around a cooler in one corner who don’t pay him a bit of attention once he hops up onto the wall furthest away from them. Swinging his legs out into the open air Clint takes a moment to just enjoy the light breeze that was absent down on the ground.

He feels better now that he’s up high and out of the crowd. He cases the ground out of habit, sorting the people into different threat categories as the music plays on. A flash of red catches his attention and Clint tracks Nat as she pulls Steve into a clearer area. Steve’s laughing and looks close to stumbling over his feet when Nat spins around suddenly. Clint gets his phone out --thank you, Stark, for updating the capabilities of SHIELD issue phones-- and points it down to record Nat teaching Steve how to dance.

He _does_ stumble then and Nat laughs before pushing Steve harder. Sharp and cruel because that’s the way Nat is. More likely to poke at your failings with a sharp finger than soothe you. To push you to do better than to pat your head and feed you platitudes. It’s a good sign that she's taking Clint's advice. 

Clint records just until Steve starts to get the hang of it and stops tripping and fumbling when Nat spins into a new move. He sends it to a number he's not supposed to have and grins as he thinks about the sweats Coulson's going to break out in when he sees his idol in the Black Widow's clutches.

~

He walks back to the apartment in step with them, and honestly doesn’t think that they really notice him. Steve’s going on, more than a little wistful, about dance moves that Clint’s sure Nat will be learning before the week’s over. His arm draped comfortably over Nat’s shoulder. Put there by Nat herself, and her glare when he’d tried to draw back had nearly made Clint laugh. They're finally in that beginning phase of a relationship --and Nat'll deny it to death-- and Clint's well familiar with the way the rest of the world kinda drops away. The way it makes people look and feel. Kinda stupid and deliriously happy.

"Are you coming up?" Steve asks as his building comes into view and Clint lengthens his stride. The question wants to be awkward, but Clint’s presence probably keeps that away. The man is sure that nothing more will happen with Clint around. It’s an almost cute misconception that Clint kinda wants to destroy, because he can be as much of an asshole as Nat about things.

"No," Nat disengages and _looks_ at Clint who increases his pace. Swinging the door open ahead of Steve and going for the stairs at something only a little less than a run.

Clint catches a glimpse of Nat pulling Steve down with one hand firmly behind his head as Clint turns to go up the next flight before losing sight of them. He lets himself into the apartment and stretches out on the couch with a hum. He’s smirking when Steve wanders in a few minutes later. Hair mussed and a --and Clint means it in the nicest way he can-- dorky as hell grin on his slightly red face.

He lets Steve have the moment for another thirty seconds before he erases his own glee and pulls on his meanest mission face. “Have a seat, Rogers. You and I need to have a little _talk_.”

The way the color immediately drains from Steve's face makes Clint's day. Hell, his whole _year_.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little short, but the next section doesn't fit with this chapter at all.

Clint wakes up to Nat’s hand on his shoulder. She’s pushing and pulling him even as he opens his eyes to squint up at her shadowed form. She’s wearing a tank top and yoga pants, and Clint can see an overnight bag next to the front door as she curls up into the space between his back and the couch. He’s in danger of falling off the edge and Nat’s ice cold feet are shoved between his thighs. Clint mutters a soft curse but settles in to sleep when Nat nips at a fold of skin on the back of his neck in warning.

He sleeps more soundly than usual that night, and wakes grudgingly to the sound of shuffling in the kitchen area.

Steve’s wearing sweats and a plain white shirt as he pulls out grocery store pastries from a box and puts them on a plate. Clint watches for a moment and wonders if he really slept through Steve leaving or if he’d just missed seeing the box last night when Nat came in. Nat is a live wire of tenseness behind him, but the breath gusting over his neck is even and controlled. She’s been awake since Steve first stirred then. Faking sleep for her own reasons.

"You get that or did Nat bring it?" Clint asks, his voice gruff and scratchy first thing in the morning.

Steve turns enough to throw a smile at him. A real one. His standard issue smile that isn’t confused or jealous or anything but Steve being Steve. “I guess she did. Should I make coffee?”

"Yes," Nat rolls over Clint and gets to her feet with a lithe stretch before heading to the bathroom. Snagging her bag on the way. The door clicks shut and Clint rolls his own ass off the couch.

"Thanks," Clint says when Steve hands him an apple something with sticky icing and cinnamon on it. The coffee pot burbles to life and Clint picks at the pastry. Comfortable in the silence and feeling _off_ about that.

It’s always been a problem. Him and Nat. No matter how much other people thought they knew or were prepared to deal with it, there’s always that moment when they _see_ it for the first time and realize that, no, they’re really not ok with it. It’s happened to Clint time and time again. No words explaining it before hand or assurances that it’s not _like that dammnit_ are ever enough to avoid the issue.

Hell, even Bobbi --who had known them both the longest of Clint’s lovers-- had been cool with it. Right up until she woke up and found Nat curled up against Clint’s back in their bed after a mission gone bad for Nat. It wasn’t new behavior for either of them, and it wasn’t something Bobbi hadn’t seen before. But something about the ring on her finger suddenly made it not alright anymore, and Clint had been signing divorce papers not long after that.

Steve looks ready to hum as he fishes three mugs out of cupboard. His own pastry waiting for him at the table that’s acquired a third chair over night. This is Steve as he usually is in the morning. Like he is normally, like he hasn’t woken up to find his lady interest curled up around the man who’s borrowing his couch. Steve catches Clint’s look and blinks a little in confusion, but it only for a few seconds. Steve Rogers is a man out of time, but he isn’t a stupid man by any means.

"I get it," Steve’s lips twist up wryly as he settles into a chair across from Clint. "I guess people might think-" Steve’s gaze goes over Clint’s shoulder. Distant and very far away for a moment that clearly hurts him before he shakes his head sharply. "Bucky," and Clint knows the name only through paper. A sketchy background that did more to explain about Steve than the man who was by all reports his best friend. "He was my friend, my brother, everything I had," Steve's eyes flick to the couch, the bathroom door, and back to Clint almost too fast to follow. He smiles again and his voice is sincere as he says, "I get it."

And that’s enough, Clint thinks as Steve gets back up to grab the coffee pot once it’s filled. Clint tries to think what it’d be like to lose Nat now. To wake up one day and be told she’s nothing more than ashes and bone. No, worse. She’s nothing but an empty grave, and a stretch of freezing water.

It’s not a thought he likes, and he’s grateful when Nat comes out fully dressed. Turning both mens' attention to the day’s plans. Relaxed when she notices the ease between Clint and Steve, and the way Steve doesn't balk at the idea of the three of them going out again so soon after that first date.

~

Clint doesn't crash every date they have, and he stops silently shadowing them after the third time Nat not so nicely punches Steve for being too chivalrous in public. There's little danger in Nat sliding back into mission mode now without Steve catching on and calling her out for it. Clint's needed interference is over with, and he's done a damn good job of being wingman if he says so himself.

He takes the time to case out the city. Make half-hearted tries for the very few apartments that go up on the market, and fails to close any deals on them. There's way too many people looking for new homes and Clint just can't justify sabotaging any of his competition when he's got a pretty good deal going. He works on a paperwork backlog that keeps showing up with vaguely threatening post it notes written in familiar handwriting instead. Clint saves the notes and makes a game out of leaving them for other agents to find. Enjoying the white-faced look they get when they recognize the writing too. Rumors of ghosts start spreading in the lower ranks and Clint laughs himself sick after hearing them the first time.

Not much changes between Steve and him. They stay up til one or two watching horrible movies before passing out, and wake up to the smell of coffee and Nat unwrapping pastries of some kind. Steve's no longer so self conscious that he puts on pants or a shirt before eating, and Nat obviously enjoys that fact much to Clint's amusement.

It's nice and quiet, and Clint can't bring himself to dread the inevitable cluster fuck that must be coming to balance all these good things out.


	9. Chapter 9

"I don’t think I need to know this," Clint tries, but the unimpressed look he gets from Nat clearly tells him how very far he’s going to get with this tactic. Inches would be pushing it. He tries another tactic, "I thought you refused to listen to my sex advice after that time in Australia?"

"I’m not asking for sex advice," Nat snipes primly as she delicately nibbles on a pile of leafy greens that don’t look like they have any dressing on them at all despite the fact he heard her order extra. It’s a trick —for who is the question because Clint’s the only one here and they’ve managed to get an out of sight booth— because she’s also ordered herself a steak to go with it.

"Yeah, kinda sounds like you are," Clint pulls the breading off of a bit of onion ring, and judging the sorry crumbs critically before popping some in his mouth. It’s better than he’s had before, not the best but at least the restaurant knows to add seasoning to the bread instead of relying on the onion and dip.

"I’d have to be _having_ sex to ask for advice," Nat points out, and it’s not a surprise really. Clint pretty much lives in Steve’s pocket these days so he’s well aware of how little below the shirt action Nat’s been getting. Plus, she’s never been shy in sharing details when she’s getting some, or her temper when she’s not. "I wouldn’t ever ask you how to have sex, just how to get someone into bed. You’re surprisingly good at the getting into bed part."

"That’s because I pretend to be you and go for bluntness," Clint points and it is kind of ridiculous how often the ‘Wanna fuck?’ line combined with a smile has gotten him laid. But Nat’s not asking about his one night stands. "I don’t know what to tell you, Nat. I usually just smile like a dork and they take pity on me."

He flirts too, but Clint can admit —just to the two of them— that if it’s not for a mission his idea of flirting is kind of bad. It’s part of his charm, many people have told him this in the past. The fact that they usually leave him when the charm wears off is enough of an indicator that Nat really shouldn’t be taking his advice here too seriously.

"I don’t see a problem," Clint continues, playing with a container of some kind of ranch dressing. "You're usually the one taking pity, not the one who needs to smile."

It’s more complicated than that and Clint knows it. Nat knows Clint knows it, and she gives him a truly impressive glare. She’s not really eating the salad, Clint notices, she’s artfully rearranging the leaves and vegetable slices in some arcane pattern that he recognizes as a changing schematic of everyone in the restaurant after a few minutes of watching.

"Ok, fine, do I need to go take a walk or something later tonight?" Clint asks, because that’s probably a big part of the problem. "Light a few candles, scatter some rose petals, and bail out the window before you guys get in?"

"Some soft music would be nice," Nat says as she drops her fork onto her plate and covers the whole thing with a napkin. She sounds as cranky as she looks for once and Clint starts getting the feeling that there’s a bit more that she hasn’t been sharing with the rest of the class. "Do you think I haven’t tried when you weren’t around already? There’s a reason you were so busy last Tuesday."

"You bitch," Clint says with little malice even though he’d been nearly ready to strangle Hill for that clusterfuck of a day. "It’s not the audience then. So, what’s the problem seem to be?"

"If I knew that I wouldn’t be asking you," Nat sits back as a waitress comes up with a tray. The woman expertly whisks away the salad and mostly decimated appetizer before laying out their meals with a perky smile that actually isn’t forced. Nat doesn’t wait for the woman to finish asking about how they’re doing before she’s tearing into her steak. Knife and fork held in an awkward grip that looks adorable right up until she starts slicing through meaty, red flesh with that intent look she only gets in a fight.

To her credit, the waitress’ smile doesn’t waver, though her eyes do get a little rounder. Clint waves her off with a warm smile and ups her tip estimation a bit. Even though she probably invited it with her blithe assumption at the beginning of the meal that Nat wanted a salad and diet drink. “Really, Nat? You do need to get laid bad if you’re getting this petty on civilians.”

Nat actually _snarls_ at him, from around a forkful of bloody cow. It’s every bit as intimidating as she means it to be. Clint shrugs and turns to his cheeseburger and fries. Letting her take out her frustration on the steak and the increasingly freaked out stares they’re getting from the workers and nearby diners.

~

Nat is hot. She's a beautiful woman with a body that she works on relentlessly in a way that'd make most normal people run screaming at just the thought of it. She's brutally efficient in going after things she wants, and has a kind of confidence in herself that is surprisingly uncommon in most women. She doesn't have problems getting laid. Never has in the past at least, and it's obvious after he's left her and gone back to his couch that this is rattling her. 

A bad place for her to be especially since she was just starting to get her bearing with the whole relationship thing. She's likely to start reverting to bad behavior, or to make a bad decision to fix something that she sees as a fault with her. A startlingly common problem for an uncommon woman.

Clint flips the TV on before sacking out on the couch. Not bothering to change the channel from the really awful looking movie that's playing. Steve should be in any minute now, and they're going to have themselves a nice little talk about a few things that seem to have escaped their mostly unspoken understanding and the one shovel talk that Clint is going to hold close to his heart until the day he dies.

Because the problem isn't with Nat. In fact, the problem isn't even a problem despite how she might look at it.

A key scrapes against the door, and Clint's pretty sure that's a courtesy sound because for the first few days of living with the man Steve was never that clumsy with the door. Clint rolls off the couch and heads to the fridge, grabbing two cans of pop as Steve comes in. He'd pull out the beer, but it doesn't effect Steve and he only tends to drink in the context of socialness or when watching a game. "Hey."

"Hey," Steve catches the slow throw and carefully opens the can. Already an expert in avoiding the small bit of fizz the movement causes. He steps into the kitchen area and drops onto a chair that looks solid enough to hold up Tony in his armor. Maybe even the Hulk if he wasn't too ragey.

Clint hooks out the chair across from Steve and sits. He debates for five whole seconds on how best to start this particular conversation before shrugging and going with blunt, because it's gotten him so very far in his life so far. "You need to sleep with Nat."

Steve, Clint notes with vague detachment that will turn to amusement later, is one of those people who inhale when surprised. A bad reaction when drinking. Clint shifts around until he's close enough to pound a fist against Steve's back as the man hunches over and tries to clear liquid carbonation from his lungs.

"What?" Steve's face is bright red when he straightens up, and Clint is being generous when he attributes it to the coughing fit. "What did-" Steve closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "No, never mind, you don't need to repeat that."

It's almost adorable and Clint has to fight to not smile or laugh when Steve opens his eyes to glare at him. Steve doesn't carry off indignation very well, though he's great at it while in uniform, and has the air of a fluffy kitten bristling as he huffs, "That's really not your business, Clint."

"Yeah, it is," Clint immediately disagrees because it would be his business even if Nat hadn't said anything to him. Steve deflates almost immediately and his face gets even redder as he looks away. The color creeping down his neck in a fascinating crawl. "Nat's my business and I'm hers. You said you got that."

"I-" Steve rotates the can, and falters a bit before looking back at Clint. Remarkably steady for the amount of embarrassment he's got to be feeling, and looking.... Relieved? Clint settled back in his chair and waited. 

"I do," Steve says, and his words are slow. He's still meeting Clint's eyes and he's still red, but Clint gets the feeling that Steve's settling somehow. "I just, I'm not sure. How, I mean."

Clint blinks and tries to parse those words into something more. The only conclusion he can come to would set Tony cackling for days on end though. "Wait, are you-?"

"No," Steve says, dry but amused, and this look is entirely too close to the ones he gives Tony. "Despite what everyone else seems to think, sex is _not_ a modern invention."

"No kidding," Clint holds his hands up, palms out. "You're right, and since that _isn't_ an issue here...."

Clint lets the question hang in the air between them. Keeping his body loose and open. Approachable, like when he wants to get close to a mark or draw in a crowd. An automatic response that he never had to learn from SHIELD. 

_Tell, Barney your problems kiddo_.

"You know, Natasha," Steve says, taking the bait or just trusting Clint. Doesn't matter which. Clint pushes that little voice away and refocuses on the present. "You know she's a strong woman, but I think you can't see exactly how intimidating she can be anymore, Clint."

Clint nearly protests, because he really is all too aware of how frightening she is. He's never forgotten it. Nat never let him and Clint would be doing her a disservice if he tried.

"Not how dangerous she is," Steve cuts his protests off before Clint can even voice them. His lips are quirked up and Clint smiles back because either he's that transparent or he's been hanging around Steve too much.

Clint isn't a transparent man.

"She's beautiful, she's talented, she's strong," Steve says earnestly and Clint nods along even as the man's eyes get that distant, dreamy look he can't bring himself to dislike quite yet. "You know this, and she deserves," Steve frowns, "not better, because 'better' is a myth. But she deserves a lot, she deserves _everything_ , and I get to thinking that I might not be able to give it to her."

"You're so gone I feel bad for laughing at you," Clint says after a few seconds of silence. Steve kicks out at his leg under the table. Carefully, because he's always afraid of actually hurting someone even though Nat's done such a good job of showing just how much pain Clint can take.

He takes the nudge and shakes his mostly full can a little. Hearing the fizz as it sloshes around. Insecurity, all around. It's such a normal problem that Clint wants to laugh, but he's suddenly gained ESP and can see what the immediate future is going to be like if a few things aren't addressed quickly. It's not a pretty picture, and it's almost as bad as what needs to be done.

Clint stands up and grabs Steve's can along with his own, dumping them both in the sink before turning back to the fridge and grabbing four beers. It won't do much for either of them, but it'll give them a much needed illusion of a forgetful stupor, "We're going to need something stronger for this."

~

In the end, he doesn’t tell Steve about the bad things. How Nat lost her virginity before she hit puberty, how sometimes she’ll use sex as a way to distract him from real problems, or how she’ll blow his mind before she allows him the chance to make the sex all about her. He doesn't tell him how she equates sex and desirableness with control. How she had that drilled into her, that her looks were as important as her skills, and if she let one slip she'd be replaced. He doesn't tell Steve how his doubts have shaken her on top her already shaky dealing with the feelings she's still denying.

He doesn’t because that’s all between her and Clint, and this new thing is between Steve and Nat and they have to figure out all that shit on their own. Clint will help steer a bit, but it's not really his place to air out Nat's closet of their skeletons.

He does tell Steve how she’ll fall apart if he uses only his mouth, and how she’ll go so quiet she might as well be screaming if he blows her mind and then refuse to do anything about his own blueballs. How she'll let him know exactly what she wants --that's a lie, but Steve'll figure that out eventually if he hasn't already-- and, unless he doesn't want it, hesitating is only going to get her pissed. It's a brutally frank talk and Steve goes red a time or two more, but the man takes it all in. Listens intently and not once does he ask how Clint knows all of this. Doesn't flinch or grimace or look the slightest bit jealous.

They finish the beers and Steve stretches out to watch the tail end of the terrible movie while Clint swings out the window and makes his way up to the roof for a bit of air. To get away from the remaining awkward air between them, just long enough for it to dissipate on it's own. He walks across the roof, away from the open window, and calls Nat.

She doesn't answer, but Clint leaves a message, "You're keeping him. I don't care what happens, you will be keeping him. Thank me later."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write odd. Backwards and forwards and skipping big chunks of scenes. Which often leaves me with a ton written and no connecting material between the first chapter and the end chapters. Chapter 8 and part of 9 was that connecting bridge I've been missing for a while. Hence the multiple uploads. If I were smart I'd space them out, but I'm an impatient type of person in the end and I'm sure many of you out there are too. Please forgive these quick chapters. Or revel in them. Your choice really.

Clint knows Nat got lucky when he comes in from a day spent on a range. Both the windows in the apartment are open, but there’s not much of a breeze airing out the place. Nat’s perched on the couch, her eyes lazy, as she silently laughs at Steve who looks like he’s trying to fix a fan Clint swears he saw in the dumpster that morning. Steve fumbles the screwdriver when Clint comes in and quite obviously doesn’t look up.

Clint grins at the hostile glare he gets from Nat. Her stare warning him of dire consequences if he does something to discourage this new change in their relationship. Clint slumps down onto the couch next to Nat and makes a show of watching the commercials, and pointedly doesn’t say a single word. He’s a good wingman after all, he’s not going to cockblock Nat. Not yet at least. He’ll wait until Steve loses some of his shyness to start needling them.

The heat of the glare on the side of his face is Nat’s way of letting him know she’s ready for this eventuality. Ready and willing to engage in bloody retribution.

"You’re both ridiculous," Steve says suddenly, breaking the silence. Clint looks over with Nat at the man who is watching them from the floor with a kind of ridiculous looking grin. He laughs and pushes the fan pieces to the floor. Getting up and _pushing_ at the both of them until there’s enough space on the couch for him too.

They end up with Nat half sprawled in Steve’s lap, Clint’s legs under her and over Steve’s legs. Steve doesn’t flinch or shy away from Clint’s sprawling, and Nat looks like the cat that got the cream, the bird, and a whole family of mice. It’s a look that Clint’s only really seen on her after a long mission goes their way in a grand finale of fire and blood.

She’s content, and Clint couldn’t be happier for her.

~

Clint eventually bites the bullet and moves into the room Tony promised to hold for him, because even as great as they get along Clint has come to enjoy having some privacy. It’s not that bad.

Tony stops showing up unannounced, overriding the door locks, the third time Clint pins him to the walls with a few arrows through the loose cloth of whatever shirt he was wearing. Banner gives him a considering look after he learns that and insists that Clint start calling him Bruce. Tony looks slightly alarmed at that conversation.

Clint doesn’t see much of either Tony or Bruce. Tony flits around the world like a hummingbird on crack, and Bruce is perfectly content to put down roots in the labs. Most of his meetings with the two men occur in the elevators.

He finds himself gravitating to Steve’s apartment despite having a two room suite with kitchen and living room of his own. He’s grown familiar with Steve’s one open room though and he finds himself returning to relax. Steve’s not always in. Nat’s taken to dragging him around the city on her own, and Steve has started spending more time in SHIELD facilities. Taking advantage of the gyms and ranges.

There’s no noise coming from the apartment when Clint arrives with a six-pack of bottled root beer and a box of glazed donuts. He knocks quickly anyway, just in case. There’s a pair of strappy heels tucked under the table next to the front door when Clint picks open the lock and lets himself in. He hooks his foot around one and pulls it out further. Nat had placed them a little too far under the table, Steve’s more likely to see them if he trips over them.

Steve’s fridge is greener than it was the last time Clint had seen it. An entire shelf filled with the same containers of cut vegetables that’d appeared in Clint’s new fridge the day after he moved into the tower. Clint moves aside a tub of garlic hummus that he’s surprised to see for the soda. Nat usually stays away from pungent smelling things when charming is called for on missions. He checks the freezer quickly, but the only things there are the same boxed dinners that Clint’s sure Steve only bought because he thought he had to. There’s no stack of various cuts of steak ready to be thrown onto a hot pan to be seared until it’s hot enough to eat, but still disturbingly bloody and possibly mooing.

Watching Nat eat a steak she prepares herself is an _experience_. One that brings shark attacks to mind.

So, Nat’s doing fine. She’s still holding back some, but it doesn’t look like she’s retreating fully behind a mission mask. Not bad. Steve probably does need to be eased into the full extent of what dating Nat entails.

Clint grabs a doughnut and pokes around the rest of the apartment. There’s a discreet black bag in the bathroom that he doesn’t need to look through to know is filled with tampons and pads. Tucked out of sight and easily missed by Steve. Unlike the second toothbrush or the few cases of some of Nat’s more neutral makeup. There’s a few books that aren’t new on Steve’s shelves and don’t look like the kind of reading the man would do unprompted. There’s a single strand of red hair wound through the tines of a small black comb on the dresser. Clint doesn’t go through Steve’s clothes because that might just be a little too creepy. He already knows that there’ll be at least two shirts folded up into the stack that smell just like Nat instead of whatever detergent Steve uses.

It’s little things. Things that seem thoughtless and accidental except that Clint _knows_ Nat.

Each item has been carefully examined and placed to her exacting calculations for the best effect. No matter where Steve is in the apartment, there’s something of Nat in sight to remind him of her. It’s a methodic approach that Clint decides to let go on. It’s no more or less crazy than some of the steps that he’s seen on magazine covers claiming to know how to get and keep men. Besides, Steve isn’t as paranoid as Clint. He’ll probably not flip out over the bit of manipulation like Clint had when he found her scent all over a shirt he damn well knew she’d never touched while he was around.

She’s insinuating herself into Steve’s life bit by bit, but, to be fair, so is Clint. A little.

There’s a worn purple blanket folded over the back of the couch that he’d never bothered taking with him when he left. The not-so-decorative couch pillows are his too, and while they’re ugly as sin they’re also comfortable as fuck. There’s a book or two on the shelf that neither Steve nor Nat would read, and the couch dips perfectly as he lays out on it. Blinking at the three chairs in the kitchen before pulling the blanket down and dozing off.

Just for a bit.

~

Clint knows he’s grown comfortable with Steve, truly comfortable, when he wakes up to the creak of springs and uneven breathing instead of the sound of the door scraping open. He rolls slightly so that his back is to the room and he can bury his face in the blanket. Steve’s quiet, like the soldier he still is, used to the communal nature of open barracks and the unspoken nature of ignoring things. Nat, on the other hand, doesn’t give a damn, and isn’t even trying to stay quiet.

It’s hard telling if this is another one of Nat’s manipulations or tests. Steve’s gone with it so Clint doesn’t think it matters anymore. He makes himself doze off again. The noise fading away until actual words draw him back to consciousness. “-mind?”

"He has his own _suite_ ," Nat says and Clint rolls over. Stretching until his spine cracks and yawning wide. "He can deal."

"Do I get to know what I’m dealing with first?" Clint asks as he folds the blanket back up. Steve’s by the fridge, fully dressed, and Nat’s still on the bed in one of Steve’s shirts and nothing else.

"Steve wants to make dinner," Nat says immediately.

"Oh," Clint squints at the stove. "Something big?"

"No, not really," Steve says immediately and then looks so sheepish that Clint expects a bunch of grandma’s to come buy and start clucking at him. "My oven doesn’t work though."

"And the stove top," Nat adds, her lips pursing in a small smile. "We had to throw out some marinated pork last night."

"Huh," Clint shrugs as they all turn to look at the appliance. It’s clean looking, sure, but apparently there’s a reason it came with the studio. "Yeah, no problem. Whenever you want, go ahead. I think Tony gave us all access, and Jarvis knows to let you both into my place anyway."

There’s a silence that Clint almost misses until he looks up and catches the tail end of a series of _speaking_ looks being exchanged. Clint feels a pang of pain that fades fast under a warm and fuzzy feeling that wants him to coo at Nat in a way too close to suicidal for comfort.

"Thanks," Steve says, a little slow, but truthful in his sincerity.

"We’ll leave you the leftovers," Nat says as she rolls herself into the white sheets on the bed. Pulling a pillow close and looking like she has every intention of napping the day away.

"And the dishes," Clint says because he’s not an idiot. He’s cleaned up enough food messes that weren’t his own to know Nat’s dislike of the chore is almost pathological.

Nat ignores him, and Steve comes back with two drinks. Clint flips the TV on and turns the volume down before flipping through the channels. Stopping on a news channel when Steve makes an interested grunt. Clint lets the talking heads wash over him and relaxes while Steve seems to be paying attention. It’s nice and comfortable, and Clint half dozes.

The feeling that the other shoe is going to drop is still there but Clint’s used to living on borrowed time.


	11. Chapter 11

Nat slips into his bed one night and Clint automatically shifts to give her room. She rolls with him, keeping her face pressed firmly between his shoulder blades. He can feel her knees pressing against his lower back. No other part of her touches him.

"What’s wrong?" Clint’s fully awake and alert immediately. Too used to her pushing and shoving him into place for her own comfort to take this unnatural stiffness as anything less than something being _extremely_ wrong. "Nat."

"He’s coming."

It’s a simple and really uninformative sentence. A cliche that’d fit right in with any horror movie if Nat said it with anything even resembling emotion. “ _Who?_ ”

Clint nearly flips over, but Nat seems to need him right where he is. So he stays still and keeps in all the other questions burning to get out. Who’s coming, when is he coming, and how much does Clint need to hurt him before setting him on fire for rattling Nat this bad?

He can feel Nat breathing against his back. Slow and steady. He tenses when she draws in a slightly deeper breath and says, “The Winter Soldier.”

~

The seedy underworld is filled with characters doing all kinds of work. Using all kinds of gimmicks to get themselves noticed and set apart from the crowd. Some make a big enough splash to climb the ranks and get hired more often. Their reputation is their resume and their name and gimmicks are all part of their brand that they sell to the highest bidder. They come and go in waves, and not many make a lasting impression. Not many reach the status of legends.

The Winter Soldier is one of those legends, a shadowy one spoken of in fear and awe. He’s a brutal agent working for an even more brutal agency for as far back as the oldest mercs can remember. A master of guns and unarmed combat with the strength to crush bones with his bare hands. A man who killed without hesitation or mercy. Murdering men, women, and children alike with no remorse. If Winter Soldier is sent after you, you’re dead. No question about it.

Clint had scoffed at that legend as he took jobs from the bottom of the barrel. Hanging out in seedy bars and listening to drunk mercenaries spout bullshit and fight. Not believing any of it one bit. Any one man attached to that kind of story would have to be at least seventy. It was more likely to be a hit squad with a rotating lineup than one person. It just wasn’t possible.

Years later he met Black Widow, and even more years later she’d confirm those tales he heard. Every single one of them.

Nat doesn’t like speaking of it, of her childhood, and the few times she does Clint makes damn sure to listen. Tales of brutal dehumanization and a cold teacher who spent more time on literal ice than out doing missions. But the ones he did do….

She was fond of him. In the way that only Nat can be. She respects him and that’s often all it takes for her to form an unspoken attachment to people. For all the brutal lessons he taught and the people he killed, Clint is left with the feeling that this man is important to Nat. Perhaps the closest thing she had to a family until Clint came along.

Maybe even not that, because Clint knows the two of them aren’t actually family. Clint’s had family before. He knows what that’s like, and he and Nat are much closer. Even discounting the shitty blood kin he was dealt with.

Clint listens to Nat breathe after saying _that_ name and nothing else is said between them until they both fall asleep.

~

Nat makes a pasty oatmeal in the morning and Clint only grimaces a little as he eats it. “How do you know?”

"We’re getting reports of activity," Nat doesn’t beat around or try to deflect. She’s over the little freakout that had sent her running to him the night before, and is in assessing mode. She’s cataloging facts and weapons in her head. Preparing for a fight she seems to know is coming. "It’s not a definite pattern yet, but there’s enough there to be worried."

Red Room. It’s the only organization that can make Nat worry like this. Their unspoken grudge for their escaped agent something that hasn’t been acted on too much since Nat threw her lot in with Clint and SHIELD. “We got an idea what they’re after?”

"No," Nat shakes a little cinnamon into her bowl before climbing up to sit next to Clint on the kitchen counter. "There’s someone new pulling strings though. There’s too much movement going on to be nothing, and it’s focusing here."

Clint doesn’t pay close attention to the details of missions that don’t directly concern him, that’s what Nat is for, but even he’s noticed the uptick in activity. He nods and scrapes the sides of his bowl down. Wondering if it’d be worth it to choke down another bowl to satisfy his stomach. “So we wait for further information. Keep feelers out for your guy. React when the shit hits the fan. Nothing new there.”

It’s pretty much SOP for them, but Nat’s frowning. Her spoon tapping away at her bowl with a ringing clink.

"What else, Nat?" Clint leans over and shoves lightly with his shoulder. She sways with the move and doesn’t glare or bare her teeth at him. "What else do you know?"

"Steve won’t like it," Nat reluctantly says. The words are dragged out of her mouth with effort, and she does know something. Something she doesn’t want to part with. " _He_ ," and Clint knows that she’s not talking about Steve anymore, "has a name."

"What is it?" Clint asks because Nat wants him to. She wouldn’t have opened her mouth otherwise. As far as he knows no one has called Winter Soldier by any other name. Not even Nat, or if she did, she’s never said so before.

Nat’s frown turns to a grimace, “Bucky Barnes.”

It takes Clint a few seconds to place the name, because it’s so far away from what he was expecting. Clint doesn’t ask Nat if she’s sure or if she might be mistaken. In this matter, he knows she’s certain. She’s right though, Steve won’t like it. He won’t like it one bit. “ _How_ is that even possible?”

"I don’t know," Nat’s relaxed again. The hard part over with for the moment. "The same way they got any other agent I suppose."

Right. Brutal dehumanization and mind fuckery so good even telepaths might not be able to undo everything done to a person. Clint tries on Nat’s grimace as he slides his empty bowl into the sink. “Any idea on a timetable here?”

"A few weeks," Nat slips off the counter to deposit her own bowl on top of his. She stands there for a moment. Face blank as her fingers curl around the metal of the sink. "Less I think. When they bring him out to work they use him quickly."

Awesome. It’s been a while since Clint did something that didn’t involve the immediate end of the world or super villains. “Are you going to tell Steve?”

Nat’s silent for a telling minute.

"He’s going to want to know," Clint remembers the sad look in Steve’s eyes the first time he found Nat curled up around Clint. The understanding that hadn’t been fake at all. "He _needs_ to know, Nat. I think it’d help too."

Nat says nothing, but the dip of her head is enough for Clint. She’ll think about it, and do what she thinks is best. He turns his mind towards business, and they’re both ready when they get the call for a mission briefing half an hour later.

~


	12. Chapter 12

Clint’s not in country when the shit hits the fan. He’s off in Georgia chasing down leads that they don’t realize are distractions until it’s too late. All the rushing and favors and outright violence in the world doesn’t get Clint back to New York in time. There’s reports of mounting damage on the streets but Clint’s not paying that any bit of attention when he finally hits the decks of the Helicarrier running.

He goes to medical first to collect Steve. Running into Tony and Bruce on the way there, but he doesn’t stop to talk to them and Clint doubts either man notices as he slips by them. They’re arguing. Heated words that Clint doesn’t bother with because they don't matter much right now.

Steve’s in one of the more secure rooms that the medics and doctors have figured out --mostly because of Clint-- their patients have the hardest time escaping from. There’s a guard posted outside the open door who shifts uneasily as Clint approaches. The raised voices that float out into the hall tell Clint why.

Clint doesn’t think he’s ever heard Cap yell like that outside of the field.

Steve looks every bit as bad as Clint expected. His uniform is torn and burnt in places, and red spotted bandages peek out of some of the tears. He’s standing firm and tall before Fury though. Not so much as a waver to his stance as ‘procedure’ meets with ‘you have _no_ right!’ It’s very, very obvious to Clint that Steve’s reaching the end of his seemingly limitless patience in this argument. He can see it in the way his right hand is slowly curling into a fist. Fury sees it too, and he's still in a way that's nothing but trouble.

"Aw, Steve," Clint slumps in the open door and gives the two men his most hang dog look. Putting on a show to try to break some of the mounting tension. "You guys have a party without me? I’m hurt!"

Fury calms right the fuck down. The few seconds of distraction enough for the man to get his composure back. Steve doesn’t so much as crack a smile though. He glances at Clint for a second, and there’s something ugly and distrustful in his eyes that Clint doesn’t begrudge one bit. He’s got a pretty good idea of what’s going on. He’s seen both sides of it after all.

"You’re just in time for the after party, Agent Barton," Fury says with a wave of a hand inviting him in. The Director turns on his heels and starts to walk out as he addresses Clint. "Captain Rogers is suffering from a concussion," right, Clint snorts as he takes in the very clear and coherent look in Steve’s eyes, "why don’t you keep him company? I’ve got a fucking organization to run and can’t play nursemaid to every booboo you idiots get."

"Sure, I’ll watch him," Clint says seriously and he means it. He’ll watch Steve _real_ close. Through the medical ward, into the elevators, and all the way through the corridors to the detention center where Clint knows the man needs to be.

Fury narrows his eye at them both before nodding curtly and walking out the door. Clearly satisfied that he’s washed his hands of the whole thing, and willing to let someone else take the fall for what he has to know is coming next.

Clint waits thirty seconds before turning to give Steve a relaxed grin, “So, hey, I hear walking does wonders for ‘concussions.’ Wanna take a walk, oh, about four floors down and several hundred feet to the left?”

Steve’s smile is grateful and given over his shoulder as he almost runs out of the room. Clint has to jog to keep up.

~

No one tries to stop them after Bruce --and Tony, but Clint’s sure it’s Bruce that is the deciding factor here-- falls into step behind them. Whether that’s orders or good sense doesn’t matter.

"You sure you don’t need me to blow anything up?" Tony sounds a little too mournful even as he’s still patting down his pockets, and Clint wouldn’t be surprised in the least if the man were to turn up a bit of C4 among his pocket lint.

"That won’t be necessary," Steve says with the kind of firm conviction that Clint would chalk up to naive optimism if it came from anyone else, but the sad fact is that he’s slept on the man’s couch. He knows that Steve is stubborn and bullheaded enough to _make_ things go his way when he feels like the trouble is really worth it.

Bruce sticks his head out the door the second they reach the right level. Looking around in a casual way that Clint can’t quite get over. His skin crawls as the man leaves his back open even though he knows that Bruce is the least likely person to have to worry about being hit in a vulnerable spot. “It’s remarkably empty for the time of day.”

Of course, Clint doesn’t say, because if no one sees them breaking all sorts of regulations Fury won’t have to do as much paperwork. Tony’s still muttering over lost opportunities as he steps off and follows Bruce. Steve’s hand on Clint’s shoulder stops him from trailing the two.

"Can you-" Steve frowns. He’s struggling, a conflict in his eyes as he holds the doors open with one hand. One foot in the corridor. "I haven’t seen Natasha. Not since," Steve shrugs and he looks a little helpless for the first time since Clint found him in medical, "not since we took him down. Hard. I can’t. I need to-"

"Hey," Clint cuts Steve’s flustered words off with a grin and steps back. Pushing at the shoulder closest to him. "You don’t have to explain anything to me. I get it, remember? I’m going to trust your concussed ass to Bruce. So tell him he has to watch you, Fury’s orders," Steve snorts, just a little derisively. "Now, get! The detention center’s always best with company."

"Thank you, Clint," the elevator closes on Steve’s back and Clint lets out a loud breath. Rubbing his hands over his face. Feeling the tug of exhaustion and the aches of the minor wounds he’s picked up chasing lies. He pushes it aside and punches in the code for the hangar level. He’s still got a shit load of things to do before he can properly track Nat down and assess her state.

~

Three hours later Clint walks through one of the buildings SHIELD had retained even after most of Operations took to the air. It’s now, functionally, the office building of paper pushers that it’s always pretended to be for as long as Clint’s been in. A ground floor facade of offices for the occasional person who wanders in to see and promptly forget about. A few weapons vaults and a whole lot of physical archives that can’t be seen from the outside buried further underground than the city allows.

The building is manned by a much smaller force than Clint’s used to and he’s a little disturbed at the silence as he walks through the halls. Feet automatically taking him down the turn that used to lead to Coulson’s office before he corrects himself. He turns left instead. Heading to a windowless room that IT used to jokingly call their museum to idiots when they’d filled it with tech in various states of destruction. The metal placard _someone_ \--and Sitwell seriously has to work on his poker face if he wants to keep that a secret-- had anonymously cemented on the door several years back is still there.

**'ID 10-T Forms.'**

Clint runs a thumb over a few new scratches that show someone has tried taking the thing off. Probably to move it to it’s new home on board the Carrier. His fingernail catches in the grooves and the door rattles hard. It's as good as a knock really.

Natasha isn’t even looking as he enters. Her attention is focused entirely on the bank of monitors in front of her. Whoever the unlucky SOB was assigned to watch them has been smart enough to flee at some point in the last seven hours she’s been here.

"I got sticky buns," Clint moves the paper bag in his hand enough to make it crinkle as he steps up behind Nat and looks down at her.

Nat is crouched on the rolling chair. Not curled up or sitting cross legged, but _crouched_ with her elbows resting on her knees. All her weight and balance resting on the balls of her feet as she hunches like the worlds hottest and most dangerous gargoyle. Clint drops the bag on the table in front of her. Close enough to reach when she wants it while not obstructing anything of the two screens she’s staring at unblinkingly. Clint rests one hand on an armrest and taps his fingers against the hard plastic. Nat doesn’t move or look at him.

Fair enough.

Clint backs away and hooks an ankle around a chair that looks one good spin away from falling apart. He makes himself comfortable. Feet up and leaning back until the chair squeaks in protest as he watches with Natasha.

There is no sound. Not without entering in the appropriate authorization codes and Nat hasn’t entered them. Clint wonders if that’s deliberate or if she just doesn’t want to find out how much access she has or has not been authorized in this matter. Logically, she shouldn’t have any access at all, but Clint thinks Fury’s finally resigned himself to the fact that he can’t expect one of them to know something and not tell the other.

Coulson is as relaxed as the man ever gets. Shuffling through a stack of paperwork, pausing occasionally to note something down. Across from him, impossibly thin without the body armor is the man that Clint only knows through rumors, Steve’s one sad conversation, and the few very frank talks he’s pulled out of Natasha over the years.

The Winter Soldier. The recently refound James ‘Bucky’ Barnes.

It’s hard to see anything of either of those two legendary names in the man hunched over the interrogation table nodding or shaking his head to Coulson’s steady barrage of questions. He’s wearing basic issue clothes that manage to be two sizes too big despite there being a grand total of fifteen SHIELD agents who are big enough to wear those sizes. His long hair is getting stringy and tangled. If the monitors were any bigger Clint’s sure he’d be able to see a smattering of bruises and dried blood too still clinging to the man's skin. Clint’s surprised that Steve isn’t in the room, but he’s probably already been in and has stormed off to Fury’s office for another round of ‘discussions’ about Barnes’ fate.

Coulson slides a stack of papers and a pen across to Barnes who looks at the whole thing like it’s a pipe bomb set to go off on a motion sensor. Clint would laugh normally, but he knows that face too well. It’s the same look that Nat had ten years back when Coulson had given her the same packet after Clint refused the kill order and dragged her in. It’s the look she’d turned to Clint for one brief second --lost, scared, uncertain, pleading-- as she silently asked if she should.

Seeing that look again makes Clint angry suddenly, because Barnes is in that room alone and he doesn’t have anyone he trusts there to tell him it’s alright to sign that paper. They didn’t even wait for Steve to be there before hitting him with the recruitment speech. It’s a dick move that they’d tried with Nat. One that hadn’t worked because Clint knew they were going to pull it and had used every trick he knew to be there for it.

It’s not Steve’s fault. He’s only been awake for a year, and he really hasn’t dealt with SHIELD enough to know better. He doesn’t know their tricks and secrets. Doesn’t know what they’re willing to do like Clint does, and they know that. Clint bets they were relying on it, waiting for Steve to get just too far away from the room to do any good.

Nat shifts and Clint realizes his hands are curling around the bow he doesn’t have with him. He relaxes and offers Nat a sheepish smile. A smile that grows when he sees her perfectly blank face tilting towards him. The serene mask slipping just enough for him to see the darkness of her memories being tempered by fondness. Her right hand tenses on her leg and Clint reaches out immediately. Worming his hand under hers and letting her hold on just as tight as she needs to while on the screen Barnes blindly signs his way into a new life.

As Clint starts to lose feeling in his little finger he knows this is probably going to be the last time Barnes ever makes a jump like that alone. Not if Steve or Natasha --and Clint by extension-- has anything to say about it.


	13. Chapter 13

Tony looks vaguely impressed when Clint runs into him on the ship. He’s loitering in the hall outside of Fury’s office, and watching something on his phone. Steve’s voice comes out of the speakers. Tiny and very, very angry. Clint walks up and looks over the man’s shoulder because it always bugs him that Clint’s taller and can do that. “I thought you promised to stop placing bugs everywhere.”

"Lies and slander," Tony pivots so that Clint isn’t looming quite so obviously with an irritated look on his face, but he doesn’t move the phone away. "I promised no such thing because I’ve never done that and you can’t prove it. Besides," Tony continues after they both get distracted by a rather long and colorful string of curses from Steve, "this is me hacking Fury’s already existing bugs."

"Huh," Clint admires the sound proofing that's gone into Fury’s office even as he makes a note of it. He’s pretty sure that no other part of the Hellicarrier is this good.

"I hate to say it, but Cap’s really surprising me here," Tony admits after a bland refusal elicits more cursing.

"Why?" Clint asks, curious, because he’s heard Steve go on a ranting streak before when his team gets behind, or when a mission starts taking an unexpected turn. "You know you can’t take everything you see on Leave it to Beaver as truth, right?"

"No shit," Tony bites back with the same level of scorn he gives interns stupid enough to try correcting him. "I only say that to annoy him. What I’m impressed by is the fact that he’s not folding under direct orders here. Not such a perfect little soldier is he now?"

Unquestioning obedience has it’s place in the field, and so does willful disobedience. Clint keeps his mouth shut though, because Tony really needs to learn not to question and argue everything as much.

"Looks like I’m up next," Tony says when Steve makes a curt, cutting gesture and spins toward the door. Fury watches impassively and opens his mouth, but what he says is lost when Tony flicks the screen and the phone disappears into an inside pocket of his suit. Tony straightens imaginary wrinkles and flicks the sleeves of his jacket a few times. Primping and preening in the seconds it takes the door to open and Steve to storm out. "Nice bags, Cap. Really brings those baby blues out. Fury still in the mood for entertaining or have you worn him out completely?"

Tony doesn’t seem to expect an answer as he slides right by Steve and into the office before the door can even shut. Steve doesn’t even seem to have heard him. He’s angry still and it’s radiating off him in waves.

Clint had stayed with Nat for the rest of the night. Managing to convince her to go with him back to his place for a shower and basic first aid. She hadn’t slept, but she’d rested while Clint had. Her fingers combing through his hair as she planned and plotted. She’d allowed him five hours before getting him up and dragging him back. Leaving him as soon as they got on the carrier to find Barnes.

Steve doesn’t look like he’s done even half of that, and he’s wearing it kind of badly. He’s not a total wreck, unless you know Steve and know the signs to look for. He doesn’t have bags under his eyes, but they are a little duller and unfocused, and his uniform is still ripped and stained. Getting to the point where it’s falling apart under the damage and showing the armored layer underneath.

"Clint," Steve’s voice is tight and Clint can hear the frustration that’s dragging the anger out of him.

"Hey," Clint falls into step easily, as they head to the elevators. "Brought Nat up. How are you doing?"

"I’m fine," Steve lies and punches the level button with too much force. Clint pretends he doesn’t hear the crack of plastic breaking as the lift moves. "They want to lock him up. Put him in a glass room like he’s an animal!"

Standard procedure, completely understandable given Winter Soldier’s past and the nature of Barnes’ brainwashing. Nat had been locked up for a week and she’d never gone through the indoctrination that most of the older Red Room operatives endured. “Have to be sure he won’t slip back though, right?”

"He won’t," Steve says with a steely conviction that’s nice but not practical at all. "I know him, Clint. He doesn’t need to be locked up like this."

"Steve," Clint starts but then goes silent because the man’s jaw is set and square looking. Steve’s digging his heels in and isn’t willing to listen to anything he doesn’t want to hear. Clint keeps his mouth shut as the doors open and Steve sets off, striding quickly towards the detention center. Pace quick and giving off an air that he’s perfectly willing to walk right over anyone that gets in his way. He only falters when they turn a corner and see Nat waiting for them.

She’s standing in the exact middle of the hallway, arms crossed and legs spread shoulder width apart. She's balanced perfectly on the balls of her feet and she's visibly armed. Her face is unreadable, but her posture screams she’s ready for a knock down, drag out fight. She looks past Steve at him, and Clint stops cold. Holding his spot at the corner of the hallway and letting Steve continue on toward her. Clint knows exactly who --and why-- she’s ready to fight with that one look.

So does Steve if the way his shoulders tense up is any indication.

"Steve, we need to talk," Nat says firmly, voice even and filled with the barest hint of a threat. Clint swings back around the corner partway. Leaning against it casually and keeping an eye out for people who don't need to see this. Any guards watching over Barnes are further down in the level, and Nat will have taken care of anyone overhearing beyond her.

"Agent Romanoff," Steve’s voice is tight, but it’s filled more with disappointment than anger. Clint still flinches from the cold address though. He hasn't used that in months, not even in the field where he refers to her by code name. "I will not allow an innocent man-"

" _Captain America_ ," the Black Widow’s tone is even colder and more biting. Snapping out like a slap and cutting Steve off fast. "There are facts that you need to know before continuing that sentence, and your continued _ignorance_ of them does no one any favors."

Clint looks back. He can’t see Steve’s face, but he doesn’t really need to. The air in the hallway is thick enough to feel. Steve says nothing, and makes no move, but Nat nods eventually. Spinning on one heel precisely and moving to an open door. A conference room that Clint knows she’s prepared already. She moves with an economy of motion that she only gets when in the middle of a mission.

Or when she knows something is going to hurt. A lot.

Steve follows without looking back, and Clint is left in the hallway. Sucking in short breaths of air between his clenched jaw and trying to tell his own gut to let up. That this fight isn’t his to be a part of. Not yet, and maybe not ever. He owes her that much for all the times she's disappeared when his own relationships took a turn for the worse, and came back after the arguments smelling of sweat and blood.

~

Clint is allowed into detention without any hassle. SHIELD has just made a drop off of detainees and the rooms are all empty except for one, and he walks right down to it. It’s one of the observation rooms with a long window that’s opaque from the inside of the room.

Barnes doesn’t look much better even though Clint knows he’s had the chance to sleep and clean up a bit. He’s laid out on the secure cot bolted into the far wall. Flesh and metal hands laced over his stomach and eyes closed. He’s breathing evenly but the way his eyes flicker under the lids and the faint grimace that deepens every few seconds tells Clint he’s not asleep.

There’s nothing else in the room, and the partial wall used to shield the urinal has been taken out. The holes filled inexpertly enough that the welds stand out against the wall. The collapsible table used for food is still there, but there’s more welds on it as well. An extra bar designed to keep it propped up and out permanently. Clint can see a few crumbs on the surface and the vanishing rings of condensation from a cup.

Clint hears Tony arguing with the agents long before his hard heeled shoes clack down the hallway towards him. Halfway there, Barnes tenses slightly, his lips going thin and tight before he relaxes. So quickly that Clint wouldn’t have caught it if he’d so much as glanced away.

"What’s your email?" Tony demands, fingers flying on his phone and eyes lit up with whatever’s on the screen. "Never mind. It doesn’t matter, I hate those free servers. I’m giving you a new one through my personal server. Ask Jarvis to open it when you get home."

"Sure," Clint agrees and watches as Barnes’ lips go thin again. Not as much as before, but enough. It’s interesting. Clint’s pretty sure the soundproofing here is almost as good as Fury’s office. He wonders what it is Barnes is actually hearing. "You looking to sign me up for porn lists now?"

"You want porn, you can look on the shared drive," Tony says absently. Clint steps back from the observation window and starts walking away, and Tony follows him like a little duckling still tapping away. "Might want to stay away from the Dom folder though. It’ll probably give you PTSD flashbacks or something."

"Thanks, I feel so warm and gooey inside when you worry about my mental well being."

"Eh, only because I don’t want to wake up to you skinning me alive after snapping one night," Tony finishes his tapping with a grand flourish that almost hits a rookie guard in the face. The fact that the man almost doesn’t dodge fast enough to avoid it tells Clint all he needs to know about how long the man’s been in SHIELD. Most people learned to constantly be on their toes around Tony after the first week he took to carrying firecrackers in his pocket.

"Noted," Clint intones solemnly, setting his face into a professionally bland mask. The one he uses when he wants to melt into the walls like a good governmental agent should. "I’ll make sure to kill you first before starting."

"As long as it’s in my sleep," Tony replies with a sunny smile to the scowling rookie. "Anyway, I just sent you a _ton_ of files on Sleeping Beauty back there. So, you know, have fun with that. Brief Captain Grumpy Pants and Miss Satan. Or don't. Actually don't, because if those two can't share the party with the rest of us then they don't deserve free information."

"I’m pretty familiar with Barnes already," Clint ignores the blatant hypocrisy in that last statement and carefully steers Tony away from the halls where Nat and Steve are probably still doing their talk thing. Tony either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. It’s hard to tell with him some times.

"Sure, but don’t you want to know what our one-eyed overlord has in store for him?" Tony asks with a ridiculous waggle of his eyebrows that would only be better if-

Tony stops walking and frowns, scrunches his eyes almost shut, and starts rummaging in his jacket.

"You’re ridiculous," Clint says when Tony pulls out a pair of sunglasses and shoves them low on his nose to repeat the eyebrow waggle again over them. "Does your inner fifteen-year-old want to go troll Wikipedia next?"

"Shut up. You love it," Tony says as he sticks his nose up in the air and sails past Clint to the elevator. Doing a catwalk stride the whole way. "And it's not trolling when they're _wrong_!" 

Clint doesn't bother trying to hide the grin sliding across his face.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much as I love the CA:WS movie, I'm going to have to say it never happened for this fic series. I'm going to have to figure out how to get Sam in here somehow, but it might not happen.

Nat lets herself into the Tower later in the night and Clint watches her as she prowls his living room. Her movements are smooth and economical as she cases his place out. Looking for surveillance they both already know isn't going to be there. 

Clint lets her as he flips through a entire forest's worth of trees he killed to print out everything Tony had sent to him. Most of it is nothing new to him, but there's some things that are. Things so small that SHIELD probably hadn't bothered with it, and things so damn important that only Fury has ever read it.

Nat eventually settles in on the armrest of his couch and flicks through some of the files herself with disinterest. Clint has no doubt she already knows everything written on the papers. Even the ones Clint hasn't seen. "You alright?"

"He will stay in custody until he's been cleared to everyone's satisfaction," Nat says like she's discussing how best to take out a target. Calmly, coolly, and with zero interest at all. "The Captain will stay on hand to keep security up."

Which is on par with what Clint expected. He leans over and butts his head against her until she curls around him a bit. Turning her face into his hair and relaxing minutely. It's the first time they've had a fight, and probably the first time Nat's been in a fight with any lover that doesn't end in her killing him. Steve's lucky and Clint's going to have to make sure the man knows exactly how lucky he is later when he's not being stubborn.

"It's ok," Clint assures her even though she doesn't --and won't-- ask for his opinion. "Give it time, and it'll all work out."

Nat doesn't refute him or push him away. She just sits there and lets him take her full weight as they sit in silence.

~

Nat eventually steals his bed and kicks him out of it even before he has the chance to try for a spot. Closing the door with a firm click as he starts to shuffle the papers together.

There's not much else for him to do after that mess is, somewhat, contained. Clint flips through a few newer pages, and notes times and rooms before getting up and heading out again. Telepaths aren't that common, and while he believes the four day estimate for getting the SHIELD approved ones up to the East coast, he also knows that there's a few much closer. And that Fury's been working a lot to get a good relationship going with Charles Xavier and his school for mutants.

It might be a good idea for him to go hang out on the Helicarrier for a few days. Work out a bit of rustiness on the ranges there. See how much scuttlebutt he can get out of the lower ranks without them knowing. Maybe even play the rumor game that's so fun and always makes Hill groan.

Just generally be present and there to keep an eye on who might or might not be coming aboard.

~

Jean Grey is a pretty little red-head who picks up on things easily, and finds Clint as he's thinking about putting his bow up long enough to get dinner. "You wanted to speak with me?"

Clint doesn't hate telepaths, but --like with any other average man-- he's got a healthy aversion to being in the presence of someone who can know what he's thinking without even trying. He acknowledges his discomfort and then firmly punts it out of his mind, because the feeling will serve no purpose. "Yeah, I did. Thanks for listening."

"Hard not to," Grey gives him a pleasant smile that doesn't look faked as she shakes his hand. There's no trace of offense on her face and Clint wonders how much it must suck for her to be able to read how much she makes other people uncomfortable. "You're projecting pretty hard."

"Yeah, it's kinda important," to a lot of people, and Clint hopes Fury was very frank with Grey upfront because Clint's not going to try to hide most of this from her. He's not really trained to keep his thoughts from a telepath. Also, he's pretty sure she's going to get an eyeful with Barnes anyway. "I just need to be there when you do your thing."

Grey studies him critically, and she's picking up a lot from him. Whether it's from his mind or his body language doesn't matter. "I've been told how sensitive this case is. If there's no objection with your superiors...."

There won't be. Even if Fury wanted to keep him out of it, he knows better than to try. If it's not Clint poking his nose into this then he's going to have Nat here, and no one wants that to happen. Not even Nat. He's the lesser evil in this case.

"There won't be," Clint places his practice bow aside on a table and systematically strips himself of every weapon he has. All of them, because there's no telling how this first session is going to go and Clint likes his chances against Barnes unarmed better than armed. 

Any session after this one should go better, but Clint remembers the first time a telepath combed through Nat's brain all too well. She hadn't meant to lash out, but the triggers had been buried deep in her mind and she'd been helpless against them. Both of his arms were broke before she could be subdued and the entire thing had shaken her bad because she thought she was free until then.

Barnes knows he's got triggers left in his brain, and probably never had much freedom in thinking before now. There's no telling how much that will help or hinder the sessions he needs to go through.

"Good," Grey leads the way out into the hall where a confused escort waits, visibly biting back a protest when he sees Clint. The agent takes off to continue leading them to the secure room Clint already knows Barnes has been transported to. Steve is safely in Fury's office. Engaged in a faked argument about living arrangements that will last as long as Grey needs. It's a move that Clint is both bothered by and appreciates. 

"It'll be good to have someone with prior experience there," Grey says and she's definitely reading form his mind right now. "Even better when it's someone who cares."

"Now, let's not get ahead of ourselves here," Clint grins and shoots a wink at the woman. "Care is a strong word to be tossing around here. He hasn't even bought me dinner yet."

Grey laughs and Clint lets himself be lulled a little bit more by it. Enough to not think about exactly how deeply she might or might not be reading into his mind.

~

Barnes has taken a shower and been given clothing that actually fits him. The change it makes is startling for the five seconds it takes Clint to take in the two chairs in the room and decide he's going to sit on the floor next to the door. It just figures no one was smart enough to think there'd need to be more than one person in the room with the patient and telepath.

"My name is Jean Grey," she says as she sits down with no hesitation. She chooses the chair that turns her back somewhat to Barnes and does not offer her hand to him. "I'm a telepath not affiliated with SHIELD. They've asked me to work with you."

Barnes gives her a terrifyingly frank look. Something shifts in him when she says she's not with SHIELD and his eyes cut to Clint. He doesn't look surprised or upset that he's there, and Clint's pretty sure the man knows who he is.

"SHIELD has telepathic agents if you prefer, but they're all out and it'll be a few days before the first one gets back in," Clint nods at Grey who does absolutely nothing to justify her presence or Clint's. Barnes doesn't need it. He just needs all the information laid out for him so he can make a choice. Something that he hasn't done in a good long while. "She's one of Xavier's people. Fury wants to get as many triggers shut down in you as he can. Quick. I don't think anyone's up for another war against you right now."

The absolute truth with just a smidgen of emotional manipulation. The fact that it looks like it works speaks well of how much of the man in front of them is actually a man and not just a weapon. Grey frowns at him for it, but Barnes actually quirks a small smirk at him. The first sign of any kind of emotion he's seen from the man.

"Alright," Barnes says and his voice is cracked and hoarse. A product of misuse Clint thinks. He speaks English with the faintest hint of an accent. Not Russian, and not anything Clint can identify. It might not even be real. He moves for the other chair and sits deliberately in a way that keeps Clint and Grey in his line of sight. He sits ramrod straight with his hands placed on his knees. "Let's do this then."

~

It's not easy and it's not pretty. Even from Clint's outsider perspective he can tell that. Grey is silent and perfectly still. Poised in her chair like a model and showing none of the strain he sees in canyon-like lines on Barnes' face. 

The man is stiff and looks ready to snap out of his chair, but most of the tension Clint feels instead of sees. 

Clint's crouched on the balls of his feet now. He doesn't count the minutes or the seconds that slip by him as he focuses on Barnes. He reads the progression of emotion across his face and waits for the break he knows is going to come. There's pain, aggression, hatred, and agony flashing all across the man's face. He's fighting hard. Fighting Grey and fighting the mind-fuck he's been in for decades. 

Clint launches himself forward the second he sees a glint of an eye, and is in place before Grey as Barnes goes from agony to attack. There's nothing in the eyes that stare at him. No, _through_ him.

"Fuck," Clint grunts as the shock of the blow he blocked fades and turns to pain. He's fucking lucky Barnes led with his flesh hand. Clint sweeps the man's feet out from under him and he goes down without a fight. Clint shakes his arm out and flexes his fingers as he feels a deliberate pressure against the back of his head. A psychic push and not a real one.

_I have him again. Thanks._

The words don't sound like Grey's voice, it sounds like his own internal voice which is probably what it is. Clint grunts to acknowledge her words but he doubts she hears. His fingers tingle a little as he grabs Barnes and drags him to the opposite side of the room from Grey. His face is going through several contortions again, and Clint settles in. Directly in front of the man.

He waits.

~

Barnes breaks free enough to act four times after that. 

The first time is the worst. Grey has to actually open her eyes and get up to put hands on him to get control back. To get him to let go of Clint's throat. The second time Clint acts first and gets a solid punch in that puts Barnes back under pretty damn fast. The third time is not even three minutes later and catches him off guard enough that Barnes can return the favor.

Clint's not entirely sure that one has anything to do with the mind control because there was a hint of a smirk on the man's face.

The fourth time, the last time, his eyes are no less empty but the hands that grip Clint don't cause pain, and there's sheer gut-wrenching desperation in his voice as he speaks in unaccented English, "Help me!"

Barnes goes under with a sigh that time, and the parade of pain on his face eases. Clint can almost see the moment when Grey finishes with him. The tension leaves the room and Barnes leaving him limp and unconscious. 

Clint backs away so that he's halfway between the two.

Grey stirs first, and she looks _tired_ when she opens her eyes. Slim fingers rub at her temples and she leans over her legs. "That was not easy."

No shit. Clint leans against the wall and watches Barnes. "How much debugging did you manage to get done?"

Anyone else would be asking her what she learned, what she saw in the Winter Soldier's mind, but Clint doesn't really care. He's got a decent enough idea of what's in there and all he wants to know is if the man's going to flip out when someone says a certain word in the future.

"Enough," Grey says mysteriously as she straightens up. Her smile is genuine. "There are more mental trigger buried deep in his mind, but we've taken care of enough that he won't be accidentally triggered."

Which is actually pretty amazing. It'd taken a month to get some of the commands out of Nat. A month of some really painful sessions that almost made Nat call him on his promise to allow her to make her own decisions. He's pretty sure that had more to do with the telepath's orders to glean as much info from her as he could though, and the proof is before him right now.

"Awesome," Clint grins and doesn't try to hide the reflexive anger he feels at events too far in the past to count from it. Grey likely already knows. "So, can I schedule you in for another session when you're up to it?"

He doubts they're going to want to allow it, but Clint's got Steve and Nat on his side. If he gives them the word they'll go to the mat to get Barnes to that private school Xavier runs for more work. Steve will be all for getting Barnes out of SHIELD custody, and Nat will trust his word that it looked better this way.

Grey stands and this smile is aimed down. "Whenever you're ready, just give us a call. You can come to us or we'll come to you."

"Thanks," Barnes says. Low and thready.

He's sitting up and leaning against the wall. Head back as he covers his eyes with the metal hand. Pressing in a way that's more about how cool it must be than anything else. 

Clint grins and throws a sloppy salute at the woman who leaves without another word. Clint can hear the escort outside the room already speaking before the door even shuts. Voice rising in a question that he's pretty sure the woman isn't going to answer.

"So, on a scale of one to go fuck yourself," Clint says as he turns to Barnes, "how likely are you to want to get something to eat? It's cafeteria food," Clint warns because it doesn't matter where you go, as soon as a foodline gets brought into the equation the food dives by about five levels, "but it's usually warm."

One light blue eye studies him from behind the hand. Taking in Clint's grin and the bruises on his neck and arms that are starting to turn a vivid shade of purple that will get Tony snarking about matching colors. "I've eaten worse."

"You say that now," Clint pushes off from the wall and goes to the door. "Let's go, Barnes."

~

They don't set off the alarm, but from the horrified look on the guards' faces at the door it's a near thing. As it is the cafeteria is suspiciously full when they get to it. Most of the agents do a pretty good job pretending not to be watching as Clint nudges Barnes towards the trays.

Barnes doesn't pick his food so much as just shove the first thing he comes across onto it. There's no flash of interest at seeing anything, and Clint has to put a few drinks on the man's tray himself. He gets a glass of milk --chocolate-- along with the water the man needs just to be an asshole.

The only table open is dead center in the room and Clint snorts, raises his voice so it carries over the low buzz of conversation, "Real subtle, guys."

Barnes takes everything in and seems supremely unconcerned to be sitting with all of his sides exposed. The flimsy sporks that've _mysteriously_ replaced the metal utensils that Coulson had insisted on the craft having never leaves his hand though, and Clint's well versed in enough Nat to know the man's so alert a fly won't be able to move without him knowing it.

Clint doesn't try to engage the man. He's been through enough for the moment and now he' getting something that's a step --small as it may be-- above the slop they feed detainees. His duty is just about done for the day. Nat should be recovered enough to take the next shift soon anyway.

He's pulling the meat on the dry bread apart, trying to figure out what the hell it's supposed to be when Barnes speaks up. "How much of this is for me, and how much is for you?"

Clint keeps pulling the meat into smaller and smaller bits, trying not to show the bit of surprise he feels at the observation. Clint's used to the hard stares he gets every time he walks through the Helicarrier. Resentment and genuine grief aren't things that are going to just disappear overnight, and Clint's done a number on the personnel here.

The worst have been quietly transferred out at Coulson's directive. Transferred to good posts with good therapists because Clint had argued with the man about it often enough. There was no reason to punish people who had to watch him kill other agents right in front of them.

"It's mostly you," Clint says when he realizes he's not going to figure the meat out by sight. Taste doesn't do him much good, but at least the small size of the chunks make it easier to swallow. "My mind control freakout and slaughter is over a year old. They're mostly over it by now."

He's pretty surprised that Barnes caught it though. Obvious as it is, he was kind of counting on the man being out of it enough from the mental therapy to not notice. Or, if he did, to not bring it up.

"You really thinks so?" Barnes asks and his eyes fix, for what feels like the first time, on Clint. His full attention on him as he frankly assesses him. Clint sees flashes of the man Nat's told him about and flashes of the man Steve's talked about then. Mixed up with a hell of a lot of shit that isn't either of those men.

"It helps me sleep at night," Clint says truthfully. Neither confirming nor denying it.

It gets a twisted grin out of Barnes, and they don't talk again until all their shitty food is gone.


	15. Chapter 15

Life quickly falls into a pattern. It's not a stable pattern, but is predictable enough that Clint knows where he's needed most days. He splits the day in half with Nat for watch duty and they only see each other for about fifteen or twenty minutes a day. Usually when one of them is pushing the other out of Clint's bed.

She watches Barnes through the cameras mostly, because Steve always seems to be around the man on her night watch. She doesn't approach him again, and Clint knows they're not talking when she refuses to call him anything besides Captain. It's not a good place for an argument to be, but Clint honestly doesn't think that anything is going to change on that front until Barnes is more stable.

Clint by contrast hardly sees Steve on his watch. Steve needs some sleep after all, and day time is the best time for him to make runs against Fury. Clint leaves finding out what all is said during those frequent meetings to Tony. It's enough that he can see some changes being made to the way Barnes is being treated. Concessions that aren't enough as far as Steve is concerned, but are frankly amazing to Clint.

He sticks by Barnes. Hanging out in the corridor outside his cell for the most part, but occasionally tagging along in person when he's brought to interrogation rooms for questioning or another meeting with Grey.

SHIELD had eventually recalled one of their own telepaths for that, but Clint had already talked to Nat about his observations on that front. The agent hadn't been on board for more than an hour before being suddenly transferred. He doesn't know the details of what happened. They're not necessary. He just knows that someone, somewhere has declared Barnes won't be working with any other telepath.

At lunch Clint will break Barnes out of where ever he is. The cell, interrogation, doesn't matter where he is or what he's doing. Clint will get him out of it and walk him down to the cafeteria where the crowd is lesser than it should be, but not as thin as the agents want it to be. It's a fun game to point out the people there to eat and the people there to keep watch. Clint's up a few points in it because Barnes is paranoid and thinks everyone is out to get him. 

"Neeve is a bottomless pit," Clint says and shovels another spoonful of oozing cheese goodness into his mouth. Even the cooks have to have one dish they're really good at, and the fact that it's mac and cheese is one of the luckiest things to happen in Clint's life. "The whole room could be filled with AIM or Hydra and he wouldn't miss mac and cheese day. Your brooding ass has no chance of keeping him away."

Barnes isn't as impressed by the food as Clint. He eats everything with the same level of disinterest which is why Clint stole his portion. No man who can give cheese the appreciation it deserves should be allowed to eat good things. "So you're saying he can't be here for watch duty _and_ enjoy his meal?"

Which is a fair point that Clint gives to the man with a very pointed middle finger. Barnes smirks and goes back to his tray. He's looking better now. Less stringy and haunted though Clint knows from Nat how very little the man is sleeping at night. His relative freedom and the work Grey has put in bringing his mind back to him, and leaving him to deal with all the issues that come from living the life he's had.

The nightmares sound like they're pretty spectacular. It may be one of the reasons why Nat had insisted he not take the night shift. Clint's grateful for the reprieve as much as he was grateful for her silence in the mornings after his time in the mental anguish box. The days after Loki when Clint couldn't tell if what was in his mind were dreams or memories.

"Just because you think everyone is out to get you doesn't meant they really are," Clint points out after scraping the last bit of cheese up. He contemplates getting another serving but they're pushing the timeline already. Steve should be done making a pain in the ass of himself soon, and will be heading back to the cells with some new concession any minute now. "Only about 97% of them are actively gunning for you."

"And the other three are suicidally optimistic," Barnes snarks and it'd been a nice surprise to learn the man had a mouth on him. It'd just taken a week for the hinges on his jaw to get greased enough to stop creaking. "Or just plain suicidal."

"Hey, I resemble that!" Clint gets up, leaving the tray behind and Barnes follows suit. If they're going to be watched every second of the day then Clint's not gong to feel guilty about making their minders clean up after them. 

"I'm aware," there's a ghost of a smile on Barnes' face that Clint counts as a victory. There's flashes of a man underneath the emotionless exterior he's adopted. They come out the most when Steve's around, but Clint will take every little bit he can get. It makes him think that things might actually be getting better every time he can pull a smile or snicker out of Barnes.

~

Things aren't actually getting better and there's a real danger that they never will. Clint realizes that when he slides into his bed for a brief nap and Natasha doesn't immediately get up to pull her shift. He rolls over to press his forehead against her back and she's very still. "Nat?"

"I was wrong," she eventually says. Her words are careful and have a thread of pain in them. Barely there, but with Nat that usually means the exact opposite of what it'd mean in other people.

Clint opens his mouth but doesn't say anything. He doesn't ask because he knows already what she's thinking. What she's probably been thinking about all day. Sitting in his rooms and stewing over it because that's what she does when things go wrong. 

She was wrong about Steve in a way that's hurting her more than most because Nat doesn't open herself up to emotional hurt for just anyone. She'd taken a risk on Steve, and Clint had all but pushed her into it. Making her expose herself in a way she just doesn't do. It's a kind of vulnerability she hates and now she's being reminded of why.

Clint wants to punch Steve. He'd probably break his hand but it's the only thing he can think of that will satisfy the anger he's feeling now. Aside from punching himself because he's as much at fault as either of them. He'd pushed for it and now Nat's hurting.

It's still not his fight. This thing is still something between Nat and Steve that they need to figure out, but Clint's mostly sure that won't be happening now and that thought makes him feel exhausted.

Nat's not going to disappear. Not when Barnes is still in a precarious position, but afterwards she just might. Go away long enough to lick her wounds. Take a series of missions that will blur together until she can come back with her normal face flawlessly back on. It'll take time but she will manage it well enough that things will go back to the way they were before.

It's just like he told her. It hurts but it won't end her. His assurances from months back ring a little hollow now though against the pain she isn't expressing but that he knows is there.

Clint wraps his arms around her and knows that from the time she leaves until the day she comes back he's going to have to fight the urge to do more than just punch Steve Rogers.

~

Clint can still feel Nat in his arms when he forgoes sleep to get back to Barnes watch duty. He's tired and wistfully thinks of the sleep he almost got as he takes the corridors automatically. It's not the best state to be in when Steve heads him off before he can get to the detainment area.

Steve's not in the best state either but Clint lets that thought go the second Steve gets into his face. "What are you doing back here?"

Hostility drips from the words and Clint lays both hands flat on Steve's chest to shove him back. The man rocks back one very deliberate step but doesn't back down. The on and off hostility is something that's been going on since Barnes was brought in, and it grates suddenly on Clint like it hasn't before. "What the hell, Steve?"

"Tell Fury that I want the cell unlocked from within, and that more security is not going to be an option," Steve states like he's giving an order, and Clint probably should've glance over the bullet point lists that Tony's been making of the verbal fights Steve got into today.

"Are you serious? You actually asked Fury to do that? What are you going to demand next?" Clint asks snappishly. "The perfect life with a nice little bankroll to fund it? Steve, he spent decades under Hydra's control. You have to understand what that means."

"And Bucky shouldn't have any of that?" Steve asks coldly and the edge to those words is frightening. "None of this is his fault and I won't let anyone ruin his life more than it is, Barton. He deserves more than a cell and interrogation. A home and family are the least of those things."

Clint's not sure what infuriates him more. The fact that Steve's pushing this whole thing so hard or the fact that Clint agrees with him to some degree. Not to the level of stupidity that is wanting a brainwashed Hydra agent to be released into the public before it's guaranteed he won't flip out, but close enough to it.

"He does, Steve. You're just fighting so hard for the home with a picket fence and three grown children that you've forgotten the part where he has to date first," and the analogy may have run away from him but it works. Steve gets it and he hates it. "Keep fighting Steve because I won't lie. He'll get screwed over if you don't, but do not think for one second that all the measures SHIELD has taken are unnecessary. They're being used for a _reason_ and Barnes will be the first to tell you that they're needed," Clint hesitates because Steve is a friend. A friend who is stubborn and has hurt Nat though. "You'd know all of this if you stopped your rampage long enough to actually talk to the man."

It's a cheap blow and Clint almost feels bad for making it even thought it's true. They have talked, Clint knows because he's been told the topics, but they haven't talked about anything more than the past. Steve's eyes widen incredulously and Clint can hear the anger in the sharp breath he draws in. "Listen here-"

"No, _you_ listen," it was a pipe dream to think Clint could ever not be involved in the fight between Steve and Nat. He wonders if this is how she felt when Clint would hit a rough patch in his relationships. "I've been watching him. I've listened to him and talked to him while you were butting heads with Fury. I got punched in the face when the telepath came in and removed some of the mental triggers from his mind," Clint moves to block Steve when he moves. The outrage on his face suddenly finding a new target. "Yes, that was necessary! You think any sane man likes having a nice little trigger anyone can use to make them a puppet? If I thought it would work I'd gladly take a knife to my own head to make sure I could never be used like that again! Hell, do you even know what Nat did to free herself?! Do you have any idea-"

Clint cuts himself off abruptly and the words nearly choke him. The silence rings with the echo of his voice and harsh breathing. Under the simmering rage that came from nowhere he can feel faint surprise at how quickly he lost it. How quickly he went from talking about Barnes to something more personal that's been lurking under his thoughts more often than it should lately. He takes two measured steps back and let's his eyes slide away from the dumbstruck expression on Steve's face.

"Fuck," Clint mutters and rubs a hand over his face and feels how very little sleep he's had the last week in the burn of his eyes. Fuck it, Steve should feel guilty enough to stick to Barnes for a while. Long enough for Clint to catch some sleep and regain his distance.

"Clint," Steve says his name as he leaves and Clint just throws up a weary finger behind him. Now is not the time to be engaging in anything. Least of all Captain America on a crusade.

~

Nat doesn't comment when he crawls back into bed. She only rolls over so they're both curled up against the other. 

_Distance. Ha._

Clint wonders when they both lost it.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before reading this chapter may I direct your attention [here](https://ashestodustdusttoashes.tumblr.com/post/58563750290) and [here](https://ashestodustdusttoashes.tumblr.com/post/58616203273) for a few lines in this to make any sort of sense at all. It's a thing.

They mope for a while together, though Nat would have his throat if he dared call it that out loud.

They curl up on Clint's couch to watch really bad shows. Getting up only for food and drink, and Clint can tell Nat's trying not to say anything about how stiff and uncomfortable his brand new couch is. It's not broken in perfectly like Steve's and that's a reminder he tries to avoid the same way Nat does as the day stretches on.

Jarvis has very specific instructions on what to alert them for involving the live feed that they both know Tony had set up even before Steve had gotten out of medical weeks ago. They're not actively monitoring Barnes, but damn if they won't be there in a second if anything happens.

Clint's therapist would call it a mental health day and make a big deal out of him knowing when he needs one if Clint hadn't dropped those mandatory sessions as soon as he could. Clint just focuses on not thinking about anything but Dog Cops for the day. Around noon Nat bodychecks him into the wall when they get into an argument about one of the rookie dogs introduced that season. It leads to a short but vicious fight, into and even above, every single one of Clint's rooms.

His place is a wreck when Clint slumps down against the wall in his bathroom panting and grinning even as he holds a towel to his bleeding nose. Feeling pleased that they managed to break the ridiculously complicated cappuccino thing that had come with the rooms. Nat curls up in the basin of the tub where he threw her, one cheek pressed tight against the cool bottom, and a small upturn to her lips he hasn't seen in far too long. She looks as relaxed as Clint feels, and that's a good indication of how badly they've been letting everything get to them.

"Steak?" Clint asks because there's a stack of them in his freezer, and he'd pulled a few out to defrost in the fridge the night before. Some of them should be ready to sear.

"To eat or use on my face?" Nat asks after a few seconds of consideration.

"Why not both?" Clint gives her his least bloody hand, and she lets him haul her up to her feet. He sees more than a few bruises before her shirt falls back down and he can feel a matching set on his back and sides. It hurts but this is the good kind of pain that they've been missing since shit hit the fan. "Maybe we should hit the gym later. Tony's got some pretty good obstacles set up."

Tony has _amazing_ obstacles set up. Part of his bid to tempt them all to move in that he's, strangely, never used. Clint hasn't had the time to properly run through it all, and having Nat along will make it ten times more interesting.

"Maybe," Nat says as she marches ahead to cook the meat while Clint tries to remember if he has anything else they can eat with the food. Maybe some canned corn or something green. Clint doesn't know what it is but he's pretty sure there's something green and vegetable like in there. "We'll see."

They will. Nat's intrigued and Clint knows that they're going to have to carve out time for sparring now. They're both made for action, and this whole watching thing with no real end goal is wearing on them. Things are bad enough as it is that it's stupid to deny themselves this outlet.

It's the start of a plan, and it makes Clint feel better as he shakes off the urge to go back and break Barnes out for their usual lunch.

~

Tony is looking at them like they're something fascinating under a microscope. Nat sits back on her heels and ignores him as she drains a bottle of water. Her hair is plastered to her forehead with sweat and that's all that's making Clint feel better about the utter wreck he is. His shirt sticks as he peels it off before collapsing on the cool mat they had started sparing on, Clint's eyes flick to the only clock in the area, over an hour ago.

"I knew I should have put more stuff on the ceiling," Tony eventually says and doesn't move to step out of the door he's been loitering in for the past fifteen or so minutes. He just raises his voice so there's no danger of him not being heard. "Pepper said no but I really should have."

"I wouldn't normally disagree with Ms. Potts," Nat says as she coolly looks over the ceiling. There are things attached up there. Bars and handholds that they'd both used. She's thinking about how much better it could be with more though. Clint's ready to offer up a list himself.

"Ha! Which means you do now. I'm telling Pepper, you agree with me!" Tony sounds like a kid threatening to tattle, and Clint lobs his own empty bottle at him. It smacks him on the chest and rebounds up into his chin. "Hey, no abusing the man who is going to make you toys to play with."

Nat snorts a little but Clint doesn't think the sound makes it to Tony.

"You'd do it anyway," because Tony would. Out of boredom and the need to show off. Clint lets his arms and legs starfish out to get the most contact with the cool mat possible. "I'll give Jarvis a list of our demands."

"At least make it somewhat interesting for my contractors. I have a reputation to uphold and I fully expect you freeloaders to help me maintain it," Tony shoves off from the the door but is still looking intently at Nat. "Should I keep holding those rooms for you, or are you two comfortable with your little love bird nest?"

Clint shakes his head and doesn't bother correcting the man's assumption. Nat will never take those rooms. Repurpose them? Maybe, but she will only ever be comfortable enough to sleep in the rooms Clint has fully inhabited.

Nat arcs her bottle enough to hit close to where Clint's first hit and bounce it off Tony's jaw. She doesn't bother answering directly as she unfolds herself to stalk off to the showers. The eyeroll only Clint can see more than expressive enough. "Careful, it almost sounds like you care."

"I don't!" Tony lies to her back before turning to Clint. "About Bruce, yes, but not you two. Maybe if I wake up to find one of you hovering over me in my sleep again I will. For all of five seconds."

"That reminds me, it's Tuesday isn't it?" Clint grins at the double finger salute he gets as Tony retreats.

~

_"I am not afraid of him,"_ Nat had stated months ago when Clint broached the subject of Bruce and the reports Clint had finally managed to bring himself to read through. Her face had been stony and the narrow gaze she leveled on him promised a hellish vengeance if he didn't drop the subject.

Nat steers them to the kitchen on the communal floor that is hardly used after he gets out of the shower, and Clint's mildly surprised to see Bruce hovering over the stove. Spotting Bruce is a rare event. Clint knows the man sticks to his room or the labs that Tony unquestioningly keeps stocked for him. He's not the kind of guy to go out of his way to seek other people out for socializing either, and that had been fine for Clint. He'd thought it would be fine for Nat too, but there's no way she brought them here without knowing Bruce was out of his cave.

"Tea?" Bruce offers with a faint smile when Nat makes the stool she drags out from the island drag along the floor. He doesn't look the least bit surprised to see either of them even though he's give Clint owlish, almost startled looks the times they've meet by chance before.

"Sure," Clint agrees even though tea isn't really his thing. He heads to the cabinent that he's knows holds an assortment of horribly and gaudy mugs to get the ugliest three down.

Bruce goes back to doing something to the pan on the stove that looks complicated with the open bins of loose tea leaves on the counter beside him. 

"How have you been Dr. Banner?" Nat perches casually on the stool looking unconcerned as she deliberately leaves her back to the entryway. The thought of that kind of makes Clint's skin want to crawl off his bones. It's deliberate on her part as she follows along with meaningless chit chat with Bruce. A calm little smile on her face that isn't natural.

Clint doesn't poke at her face or raise an eyebrow when he leans against the island across from her. In his opinion, the Hulk isn't a bad thing to fear and being wary around Bruce is just common sense. It's typical that she doesn't see it that way though. That her fear is an obstacle that needs to be overcome through exposure.

Sitting there now with Bruce in the room has to be wrecking her nerves, but she doesn't show a bit of it. It's another mask and act for Nat. She's being careless and deliberately ignoring every tactical advantage available in the small room. The better to play a role while showing off exactly how unthreatened she feels. The last something that only a professional would pick up on.

Bruce either doesn't notice it or doesn't really care as he fills the mugs up with something that smells warm and savory. It's thicker than the watery teas Clint is used to when he takes a cautious sip. There's a body to it that Clint thinks he can grow to like.

If Bruce decides to buck the expectations of SHIELD's behavioral experts and stick around that is. Clint's seen more than a dozen assessments get thrown through the system predicting another bid to flee from the man in the last month alone. He doesn't think they're giving Bruce enough credit though. They're certainly not giving Tony enough since they never mention how unlikely it is for Stark not to go after the man.

Or enable him, which Tony has done by giving him pretty much unlimited access to a sizable banking account.

"Thanks for coming up," Bruce says and the nod Nat gives him clears up some of the mystery for Clint. He wonders when Bruce had reached out to her. "How's the situation with... Barnes," there's a slight hesitation before the name, and Bruce frowns a bit over it. Steve's probably been talking to Bruce then. "How likely is it that he's going to be released?"

"With Rogers fighting for him?" Nat wraps her hands around her mug and meets Bruce's gaze calmly. There's no hint of any discomfort in her for anyone to see. "Highly."

"Hm," Bruce doesn't say anything for a long while. Just drinks from his mug, looking like his mind is far away as he mulls it over.

Nat lets the silence go on and Clint follows her lead. This is her thing. He's not going to interfere with whatever it is she's looking to get from this. Bruce's eyes focus sharply after a few more minutes and Clint reflexively sits up straight.

"He's dangerous, you'll be watching him like you do with me," Bruce observes and doesn't seem the least bit upset by the implication. Hulk watch isn't their mission, but correcting him on that is pointless. SHIELD is, and always will be watching Bruce. Along with a dozen or more other organizations. It's a shitty fact that the man knows and deals with daily. "I don't think the Captain will understand why that's necessary."

Steve's definitely been talking to Bruce. Maybe even ranting a bit. Clint snorts a little and leans down on his elbows. "Yeah, well until the last trigger's been taken out of his mind he's going to have live with it."

"The Winter Soldier is dangerous," Nat agrees neutrally. The look she flicks his way is anything but that though. "Until we're sure that his mind is completely his own and not Hydra's we will be taking the necessary precautions. _Only_ those that are needed."

Bruce stares at Nat looking for the lie, and Clint can feel the hair on the back of his neck stir just a bit. The fear that Nat has of the man taking on a new layer because he's getting the very distinct impression that Bruce is _reading_ her. Correctly reading her, and that's not something just anyone can do. It took Clint years of working with her, and her trust in him to get a handle on her. Bruce has only met her a handful of times in the past year.

The thought that he can see through her with just that is unnerving for Clint. It's worse for Nat.

"He's not a monster that needs to be caged. He just didn't have full control of his choices," Bruce's eyes slide deliberately, accusingly to Clint. "We all know how that is. Barnes shouldn't be punished for crimes that are not his."

The insinuation is nothing new, and it's even a lot more positive than what Clint's used to getting. There's something about Bruce's steady gaze that makes Clint angry though.

"Yeah, well we don't need to be stupid about it!" Clint bites out a little sharper than he intended. "Brainwashing leaves a lot of shit behind. Buttons that not even he'll be aware of until it's too late and he's already killed his best friend. You think he'd want to go back to that?"

"No," Bruce inexplicably backs down with a little smile. He tips the mug up higher to drain and slides out of his stool. "I just wanted to be sure you understood his position though. Thanks for talking with me."

Clint stares after Bruce long after he's gone. On edge all over again and more than a little incredulous. He swings his head back to Nat who is frowning. "He's a manipulative little fuck!"

Nat pushes her mug over to knock it against the rim of his own, a rueful tilt to her mouth as Clint understands the situation with her so much better now. 

"Damn," Clint slumps back down and lets his forehead rest on the cool marble top. "Fine, alright, he's better than I thought. He is on our side, right?"

"For better or worse he appears to be," Nat says and there's a little laugh in there. A cruel amusement that Clint accepts because he's apparently been living with Bruce for a while now without knowing anything about him.

It'll be more than a little funny once he's gotten over his shock of being played by Bruce Banner of all people.


	17. Chapter 17

Nat goes back to her regular watch without any discussion. Clint catches sight of her in the cells with Barnes a time or two when he gets curious. They're talking, about what he doesn't know because she doesn't share with him when she comes back to his place to sleep. Whatever it is, it lets Nat ease up from the tight curl she's been sleeping in for the past few weeks. He still wakes up spitting red hair out of his mouth but it eases some of the worry in him to see that in her.

Barnes seems to do better as well. It's hard to tell through video if it's Nat, Steve, or any of the dozen things being done to deprogram him that is helping most. It's probably a combination of them all. It's good to see it happen though. Clint himself stays away from the Hellicarrier.

Mostly because he doesn’t think he’s needed there anymore. And, maybe, a tiny bit because the thought of having to talk to Steve again makes Clint want to shut his head in a door or three. Things were said last time and Clint knows they’ll have to be addressed eventually instead of forgotten like he wishes it could be. He just kinda hopes he can put it off until he no longer feels like retreating into a hole somewhere for the overshare he hadn't intended. Nat is still pissed off enough that she lets him get away with the avoidance.

Which leaves Clint with a fat lot of nothing to do. There’s only so many times he can enable Tony’s pyro tendencies before Bruce starts to edge perilously close to the green spectrum of skin tones. So Clint finds himself doing remote reconnaissance.

Steve’s around a lot more during the day, and it’s good to see Clint’s bout of TMI has done something good. The guards aren’t happy about it which means Fury’s considering shitting kitten or two. And maybe actually does it the day Grey comes back for another session.

Steve talks to the woman for a very long time, and Grey is saintly enough to bear up under the suspicious grilling. Eventually doing her own talking that leaves Steve looking equally angry and gutted before he follows her straight to Barnes.

The session goes over much better than the first one. Barnes doesn’t even attack, and only starts screaming twice, but Steve looks _worse_ afterwards as he haltingly leads Grey out. Stopping once to look at Barnes who shakes his head hard and points out the door.

Barnes doesn’t collapse so much as sink down to his knees. He’s not shaking either though it looks like this session might’ve taken more out of him. Clint leans closer to the screen though he knows he won’t get more detail. The man’s face is blank and devoid of emotion. His body held unnaturally still. It shouldn’t be possible for Clint to be getting the feeling the man's pissed but he is. It takes Clint a moment to figure it out.

Barnes is like Nat, Clint realizes with a clarity that shouldn’t surprise him as much as it does.

They’re from the same branch of scumbag asshole Hydra. Hell, Barnes had even trained Nat. She never hid that fact from Clint. It'd make sense that she picked up more than just how to hit hard and fast from him. Control was the bread and butter of the Red Room program. A good operative learned to control _everything_ or they paid the price.

Clint can still remember the even voice Nat had used to describe a few of those punishments once, and he snarls at the memory. The punishments were old hat when they were used on Nat, and Clint has no doubt who they were perfected on now.

Steve's back by the time Barnes has himself collected, and Clint shuts the feed in favor of going down to the range. He shoots the targets presented to him until his fingers go numb and his muscles are burning. Nothing else in his mind but Nat's emotionless recital from years back, and the carefully blank look on Barnes' face.

~

"The telepath thinks he's clear," Nat says.

Clint plants his feet and pulls hard on the rope she's attached to a hook in the ceiling. He yanks it a few times for good measure before lifting his feet to hang his full weight on it. Nat stretches out to observe the anchor point for a few moments before nodding in satisfaction.

"She did good work," Clint swiftly climbs up to join her as she moves to inspect some of the newer struts that have been appearing in the training area lately.

"Yes," Nat doesn't mention how much netter. Doesn't mention the extra months she had spent seeing a SHIELD telepath before reaching the point Barnes has. She's angry about it, but it's a clinical anger that she'll use someday. Just not now. "It's the last condition that needs to be met for his contract."

Coulson hadn't even tried to prevent her from obtaining a copy of the forms Barnes had signed, and Clint had felt a little warm when they found out the terms of it. It hadn't been nearly as bad as they'd been thinking it would be. Coulson had pulled his weight. Memories of another Hydra asset combining with his admiration of Captain America making him go easy though Clint knows the man will deny it.

"What's he think about it?" Clint asks as he jumps a little. There's no give at all to the strut he's on.

"I don't know. He's not going to run," Nat drops down to sit. Letting her legs dangle down over the weights that take up a corner of the room.

"What do _you_ think about it?" Clint counters and leans against a supporting bar. Confident that it'll hold his weight.

"It's the best option," Nat looks up at him. It's an echo of the words he said to her when he convinced her to come in to SHIELD. Words she had doubted for a long time, but that she truly believes now. "Hydra will try to get him back, and, when they fail, they'll try to destroy him."

There had been a dozen attempts to get Nat back. Not easily stopped, but they all paled in comparison to the time when they went from retrieval orders to destruction. They'd tried everything to get her back. Clint himself had been part of that as they'd aimed to hurt her through anyone they could. Anyone they thought had even the slightest connection to her. Which, fortunately, weren't all that many people, and Clint had already been on Hydra's shit list for a while before that. So the added threat hadn't really bothered him much.

Nat hadn't had any connections to anyone but Clint then. Barnes is another story.

Steve can take care of himself, Bruce is a suicide mission, and Tony is on too many lists to be worried over Hydra. Sam Wilson is already being watched by SHIELD but the man seems more than capable of handling himself with the proper warnings. It's the other people that will have to be protected. There aren't many survivors of the Howling Commandos. The few who are still alive are in hospitals or homes for the elderly. Men enjoying their last years and whom Barnes himself may or may not remember. Their deaths will hurt Barnes though. Eventually he will regain the full memories of his life.

"It won't be the first time we've had to stake out an old folk's home," Clint points out, because that is sadly true. "At least we're not looking for a weapons smuggling ring this time."

Nat kicks him off the strut but she's smiling when she does it.

~

Clint's regarding his fridge thoughtfully and wondering if he can get away with steak for dinner again --a Nat approved meal plan if he ever heard of one-- when he hears the unmistakable sound of the door opening. The locks disengaging make a very distinct sound and Clint frowns as his fingers itch for his bow to shoot at Tony but he doesn't bother moving. Nat's out on the couch and should scare the man enough to remind him he needs to go back to knocking.

Only he doesn't hear any sound from the living room. Clint lets the door shut and quickly strides to the door. Alert but not alarmed. True threats can't make it this far into the tower, but problems can.

Which is exactly what he finds standing just inside his door looking vaguely uncomfortable as he looks around the room. "Steve," Clint's proud that he can strip anything he might be feeling away from the name. Prouder when Steve turns to look at him, the uncomfortable dropping right from his face in a second. "Have a seat."

Clint backs away and sees that Nat isn't in the room at all, but the door to his bedroom is open. He sees no movement in the darkness there, but it's clear she'd slipped back there when the locks first started opening. He has no doubt she's going to stay there either. If she doesn't slip up into the ceiling and take off on her own.

Leaving him to deal with this. Whatever it is. Clint grimaces as he turns to his coffee pot. Stained and old from Goodwill, but much easier to use than the partially sentient one Tony had first gifted him with. Putting on a new pot to brew takes only a minute, long enough to get his own game face on.

Their last meeting had been a clusterfuck of emotions Clint's not proud to know got the better of him. He's not going to say he's sorry for what he said, but he's sorry the words got past his mental barriers. Clint wastes a few more seconds debating if going out with a coup

Steve's looking at something when Clint comes back out, and it only takes a glance to see it's the books that appeared sometime over the past few days. Books that Clint last saw on Steve's shelves. He never noticed them making the move and a look at his couch shows him he's also missed the fact that the cushions he's been using are the ones he'd left at Steve's. He wonders how much of Nat and himself is still left in the man's apartment.

Not a lot knowing her. Just a few small things left behind deliberately to make her absence that much more noticeable. An effect that's been lost on Steve because Clint knows he hasn't left the Hellicarrier at all in the past month. It's more than a bit concerning that Steve's felt the need to see Clint on his first day off it.

"Who's on the Hellicarrier?" Clint asks because he's not exactly sure where to start this lovely conversation, and because he knows Steve wouldn't be here unless there is someone in his spot.

"Bruce," Steve says and he turns to take a seat on the couch. Eyes lingering a bit on the cushion closest to him before looking up at Clint. Steve's got his game face on too. There's not a single shred of anything Clint can read in him right now. "Bucky's been wondering where you are at lunch."

Clint shrugs and tries not to feel a squirming bit of guilt. Barnes isn't his main priority. A responsibility, yes, but not the primary ones he has in his life.

"I didn't. I didn't know that you would eat with him. I thought that you," Steve stops and rub roughly behind his right ear a bit with a grimace of his own. The mask cracks a bit and Clint can see embarrassment and guilt mixed up there. "Doesn't matter. I was wrong, obviously. I knew that when you left, and Bucky confirmed it."

Clint's impressed despite himself. Steve's reaching out here in a way that no guy likes. Clint feels embarrassed for him and rolls his head back so he doesn't have to look at Steve. This, right here, is exactly what he was looking to avoid. "Yeah, well, that was supposed to be a secret. The first rule of the brainwashed club is you don't talk about it."

It's a weak joke made even weaker by the fact that Steve might not have seen Fight Club, but it gets a smile from him anyway. "We talked," Steve adds on after a few moments of silence. "About his treatment and what he thinks of it. What _he_ thinks he needs."

"Did he actually say anything?" Clint asks curiously because that kind of introspection isn't something Barnes had been handing out to anyone. Not even to Clint. Most of what Clint got were frankly terrifying stares and a heaping handful of sass.

"Yeah, he did," Steve's eyes go distant and it's clear that what was said wasn't nice or painless. He doesn't offer up anything though and Clint's not going to pry. Nat might tell him if she thinks it's important, but that's a different matter entirely. Steve focuses abruptly on Clint and there's a hint of steel in him again. "I'm not going to just let them lock him up though."

Stubbornly, suicidally optimistic. Steve Rogers in a nutshell, folks. Clint smiles because he really never expected anything less from his friend. He'd just hoped he wouldn't get too stupid about it. Even if Steve does recover well from stupidity most times.

"Good. Don't let them think they can get away with it, but," Clint raises a hand to point directly in Steve's face, "don't blank us again like that. We _know_. Better than most, better than you, and we're trying our damnest to help you. We're not your enemy. Not me, not Nat."

"I think I'm starting to get that," Steve says with a self-depreciating smile Clint can feel in his bones. They're silent for several minutes and Clint's sure now that Nat is long gone. Which is going to be a bitch to deal with later, because she really could've used hearing that from Steve.

"I'm not going to apologize for any of that. You know though," Steve says and he swallows a little, as he jerks his head the slightest bit towards the books before looking at Clint challenged. "With Nat. You know what you'd do for her. It's the same for me and Bucky."

What Clint _did_ , goes unsaid, and he concedes the point. Steve's been up in arms from the start. Ready to start a war to protect Barnes. He's not a sneaky kind of guy but Captain America has a presence that can't be ignored, and he'd used every bit of it to wring everything he could out of Fury. Clint has no doubt at all in his mind that Steve's also got a plan to get his way by force. One that's probably going to get put into motion soon going by his impatience with the whole process of debriefing --de-triggering, de-escalating, de-everything-- Barnes.

It's nothing less than what he has done for Nat in the past, and Clint knows how far he'd go for her. From experience and hypothetical situations. It's one of the reasons why Bobbi had left him. She'd asked once about who Clint would choose between her and Nat. Some made up situation where both women were stripped of their abilities to fight, and where Clint himself hadn't been the first to fall under some vague threat. A ridiculous question he'd rolled his eyes at even as he picked it apart piece by piece and never answered.

Because Clint isn't a stupid man and he'd known even then that no lover would want to hear that Clint would save Nat first.

Clint wonders if that isn't part of the reason why Nat's pretty much smoke on the horizon when it comes to Steve now too. She's never had to doubt Clint before, she knows her place with him and mirrors it, but it's different when the thing gets turned around. Clint doesn't think Nat expected Steve to give in without a fight, but maybe she'd expected her relationship with him to give her some sway. Finding out that there's someone more important than you in a relationship can be a game changer though. Clint knows. He's seen it enough from the perspective that Steve's in.

She's never been in relationship before though, and new things are not Nat's friends. The fight is, once again, none of his business, but now he's remembering that he's a nosy little shit who pushed Nat and Steve together even though that shouldn't have been his business either. Amazing what a bit of a break can do for the memory.

Now isn't the time for that though. Clint still kind of wants to punch Steve in the face just as much as he wants to accept the branch the man's extending.

"I never said I was sorry either," Clint offers, not to Coulson or Fury or Maria. Not for the ways he made their lives hell, for the times he made them question his sanity, or even for all the secret plans he'd made to utterly destroy them just in case. "I get it."

Clint does. He just needs to make Steve and Nat get it too now. "You want some coffee?"

"Yeah, thanks," Steve smiles and relaxes back into the couch. Going loose in a way that almost looks like it hurts with how tired he now appears. He takes the mug Clint brings out thankfully but pauses before drinking. "Will you come back? I think you did a lot of good for Bucky before."

"Sure," Clint assents. He would have done it eventually. Sitting back and doing nothing has never really suited Clint, and it's a relief to have this talk out of the way now. "I'll be up to take your bestie out for lunch tomorrow."


	18. Chapter 18

"Hey," Clint gets a dead-eye stare when he pauses outside of the cell, and he can feel the hostility that's been lacking for a good while even when Barnes breaks off the look to turn back to Steve.

"What did you say to Steve?" Nat had asked when she slid back into the rooms just before he left. There hadn't been any tension at all in her shoulders at getting chased out by Steve earlier. She'd paused though and Clint saw a flicker of her eyes. A question not asked.

"We had words," Clint offered the vague answer anyway just to see the annoyed purse of her lips before he walked out. It's not smart to let Nat stew on what they might or might not have talked about, but it'll give him some idea of what she's feeling. Something he's avoided up till now.

Steve obviously had shared their talk going by the banked hostility he's seeing in Barnes now. Or, he's at least shared enough of it for Barnes to cast Clint in the light of a threat of some kind. It brings the parallel to Clint and Nat that Steve's made a few times back into focus, because he's seen Nat get shitty and hostile to people on his own behalf more than once.

It's almost amusing to think of Barnes being protective over Steve until Clint realizes that the man is solidly in the Nat position of that relationship. Big and menacing he might be, it doesn't take away one bit from the fact that he's very likely to shank someone in the back from the shadows.

"Clint," Steve stops to acknowledge him on his way to the now daily shouting fest with Fury. His eyes flick back to the cell briefly before he claps Clint on the shoulder. "Thanks."

Clint is afraid to ask what he's being thanked for so he lets the man go by without a word. Barnes has shifted his attention back to Clint when he looks back. He's got an expressionless mask in place but Clint can almost smell the hostility still there. The wise thing to do would be to sit tight and let Steve get the other man's head back on enough to explain away everything that might be bothering him now.

No one has ever accused Clint of being smart.

"So, I was thinking a tour might be in order," Clint grins at what might or might not be a flicker of surprise as he punches in the code for the door two hours too early for lunch. "Seeing as you're technically a SHIELD agent and all that."

Barnes says nothing, just rises up to his feet and steps close to Clint. Letting his bulk and flat gaze do all the talking. It'd be more effective in intimidation if Clint was anyone else. He waves off the guards who make their usual token protest and heads straight for his destination. Not bothering with any other rooms or an actual guide.

"And this is the third most important room on board," Clint lets his arms fly out like he's presenting a prize as he takes in the training room he and Nat favor. Empty because few people ever want to encounter Black Widow and Hawkeye training. "It's where we all beat the living shit out of each other."

Clint rolls forward on instinct almost before he can finish his sentence, and isn't surprised in the least when he continues back onto his feet and finds Barnes right where he was. The air fairly sings with the punch that didn't connect. There's nothing but danger in the man's face now and Clint feels a little bit of a thrill as he widens his stance. They've got about ten minutes tops before whoever is watching them gets uncomfortable enough to report the fight.

Barnes doesn't move from where he's standing or even drop into any sort of position. Clint doesn't make the stupid mistake of thinking he's anything but ready for a fight though. The man does a slow up and down of Clint that would be flattering in any other circumstance. It's pure, practical assessment though. Checking Clint out for weapons, strengths, and weaknesses.

"The most important room is medical," Clint lets out his most annoying smirk as he brings his hands up. Keeping lose and ready. "Let's try not to end up there or we'll both get our asses handed to us."

The only answer he gets is the blur of motion as Barnes drops low and attacks.

Fighting him is as like fighting Nat as it isn't. Nat is a deadly woman and knows it. She plays to her strengths without a care for how others might perceive her style. She goes for quick and precise blows, things that will cause maximum pain and damage. Her flexibility is an asset she uses at all times, angling her generally smaller body to the best advantage for incapacitating an opponent.

Barnes is quick and precise, but he's neither small nor as flexible as Nat. He's got reach and a mass that he fully exploits. An advantage Clint's used to having over Nat, and the left arm is an entirely new set of complications he hasn't had much time to compensate for. It's almost too easy to see Nat's fighting style in Barnes though. Easy to see the similarities, and Clint uses that knowledge to his advantage.

Clint's fought Nat enough that he can easily fall into her moves. Modifying them for his own reach and speed. Flexibility has never been an issue for him, and Clint grins at the flicker of something that might be surprise on Barnes' face when Clint slides out of a hold like air. He dodges back from a flurry of punches, and skates a kick off the man's ribs. Accepting an elbow to his thigh in exchange as he spins away. It's a novel inversion of Clint's usual spars.

He grunts when he fails to get away from a right hook fast enough. The edge of the fist grazes the bridge of his nose and he reels back in pain. Stepping back fast as he tries to blink his eyes clear.

Fuck but that hurts almost as much as getting it broken.

A hard arm presses across his chest to slam him against the wall before he can regain his footing though. Clint growls and glares through watering eyes as he brings one hand up to the other man's neck even as he feels two fingers press pointedly into the soft flesh of his stomach. A silent comment on what could have happened if they were both armed.

Clint digs his fingers pointedly in the softer flesh of Barnes' neck. A little tensing and the vulnerable artery is gone. Even a dying man can manage that move. Barnes frowns before grudgingly giving the point with a nod and there's a small tilt to his mouth as he steps back a couple inches to look Clint over. The flicker of eyes is more calculating this time. Putting the new information gained from the brief spar together with the old, a bad habit for people in their line of work.

Clint's already updated his own mental assessment of Barnes. Mostly, it's information about what an utter bitch the metal arm is. The rest is trivial stuff. Like the fact that even though it's been weeks since the man arrived --and he has had several showers-- there's still a bit of dark lining around his eyes.

"Hey, I think your makeup needs a little touch up there," adrenaline often makes Clint do stupid things. It's a known fact, and one of many reasons why Clint has often been made to work off post-mission highs before being allowed back into contact with regular society. He reaches up to trace around the edge of Barnes' right eye. Ignoring the way he goes very still, and the way his gaze gets sharper. "It's a little smeary right here. The prison guards out of eyeliner for you?"

For three of the seven seconds they get before a response team breaks in through the door Clint thinks he might just die, or get a few bones broken at the very least. The last four seconds are spent marveling at the fact that Barnes still remembers how to laugh.

~

Steve looks torn between laughing and having an aneurysm. Fury looks like he's already had two and is working on his third now. "Explain to me again, Agent Barton, why you thought demonstrating your amazing power to stop fists with your face was a good idea."

Clint leans up against the wall of medical and ignores the icepack that had been shoved at him by an annoyed nurse whose time was better spent looking after people with actual injuries. The trip there had not been necessary, but Fury had insisted because he's an asshole.

"It wasn't a good idea, sir," Clint dutifully intones because it really wasn't a good idea. He'd known that going in. It had proved a point though, and also let off some steam with Barnes going by the much more relaxed figure standing behind Steve. Clint almost wonders why no one had bothered to look him over when they came in. It'd be insulting if he didn't know how shit scared some of the staff had been when they brought the man in unconscious the very first time.

"It was amazing though," Barnes snarks, almost too low to be heard. He'd gone stiff the second Fury came sweeping in, and it looks like he's been forcing himself to consciously relax. Outwardly at least.

"It would have been more amazing if you'd used the metal one," Fury says back without taking his eye from Clint. It's an intense look that's all calculation, and probably doesn't miss any of the meaning behind Clint getting into a fight with the Winter Soldier.

Not that he's going to acknowledge it, because Fury is that kind of asshole too. He's all the different kinds of asshole he needs to be to keep SHIELD going. Coulson had told Clint that at the very beginning of his career, and time had only reinforced the observation.

"He's laughing," Clint turns his head to confide in the other two. Not bothering to pitch his voice lower, because he's always learned best by example. "On the inside. Deep down. Deep, deep, deep down. So deep down that-"

"If it's a fight you're looking for, Agent, there's a list of missions that need to be completed," Fury finally turns a disinterested eye on the other two men. Steve reflexively straightens up and leans forward slightly. A man ready for a fight that he doesn't get. "Gentlemen."

Fury is gone with barely a nod and Clint watches Steve stumble a bit at the lack of fight. He obviously doesn't trust it and Clint silently applauds that until Steve finally turns his attention back to him.

"What the hell were you thinking?" The incredulous look that slides from almost amused to definitely not amused is only lessened by the slightest fraction when he includes Barnes as well.

"He's a member of SHIELD now," the paperwork had cleared just that morning. Clint had the alert set from the moment he'd seen the contract get signed. He and Nat had both known that things would change drastically once everything was official for James Barnes, and had been waiting for it. There are policies in place on the treatment of agents that can help the man. "There's rules against letting agents go to seed with inactivity. I was just doing my duty as a senior agent really."

"I wanted to wipe the smirk from the punk's face," Barnes offers and Clint snorts because a punch isn't a good way to do that. He gets a half smirk from the man at that and Clint chalks up another tick under the win column for him.

"I don't-" Steve runs a hand over his face that hides his lips even as his shoulders shake with amusement. Once or twice, and Clint's calling that a victory too. He's managed to get Barnes down from pissed to whatever he is now, and make Steve laugh. Damn anything else, he's on a roll today.

"When you say Bucky's an agent," Steve starts to ask when he pulls his hand away. Fury's been deliberately obtuse about the contract, and Steve didn't come to Clint or Nat to find out the details. Steve looks alert now because he's not a stupid man, and has probably inferred a few things already.

"Welcome to SHIELD," Clint turns his attention to Barnes. "Officially you're starting out at as a level one, but you're really about a seven or eight with what you know. The welcome packet and employment manual are en-route. They make great fire starters if you get stranded on an island so keep it close. To your heart preferably, because they also double as bullet proofing. Someone will drop them off soon," maybe literally if Steve can be convinced to wander away while Nat is on watch. "I recommend skipping out on the standard issue billeting. SHIELD bunks suck. So let them know you're staying in approved housing with an outside contractor and don't let them convince you that you can't do that."

Contractor is stretching things a bit when it comes to Steve, but it fits for his role.

"Ah," Steve says softly and he's already looking at the door with that stubbornly determined look. Really, Clint didn't need to spell it out for him. He wonders if he's been doing research on his own or if Tony's been feeding him things. "If I leave can I trust you two not to cause any other incidents?"

"No," Clint answers honestly. Steve's been on a few small missions with Clint. He should already have known the answer to that question. "But the answer wouldn't change even if you stayed."

Steve turns to Barnes and tilts his head. The other man gives a half shrug and a different tilt of his head that seems to satisfy Steve. He leaves with only a little trace of hesitation.

"Lunch," Barnes declares and Clint has no choice but to move quickly after him.

~

Steve joins them halfway through Clint tearing apart a suspicious hunk of meat, and Clint gets to appreciate the fact that he's kind of missed hanging around Steve. Sitting next to Barnes the hard assed Captain retreats to let the guy who gets way too into baseball games come forward. Steve's laughter and the low chuckles he draws easily out of Barnes feel natural, and Clint watches in amusement as the tension levels from the surrounding agents --something that's always been almost a physical thing-- eases for the first time.

Clint slips away from the table with an excuse about requisitions that Steve seems to buy. Whatever comes up next Steve can handle. The easy banter between the two men has brought Clint's mind back to something else that needs his attention though.

Nat's been sitting for hours. Jarvis has a strict policy set in place about recordings in the living areas of the tower, and bugging his rooms is not something Nat does unless ordered to. Allowing some privacy out of respect for him. She had wanted to know what he'd said to Steve, and his refusal has probably driven her up the wall a time or two since he left.

Nat doesn't like it when information she wants is withheld from her.

Clint doesn't head to his rooms when he gets back to the tower. He goes straight to the training floor and takes his time putting on armor and making sure his gloves are on right. Going over his gear with the same care he gives it when he's about to be dropped into a hot zone. He rolls his head on his neck to hear the popping of his spine and stretches a bit for good measure. Testing out his reach for anything that might have been limited by the fight with Barnes earlier.

The bruises are easy enough to ignore so Clint grabs his bow and hits the lights in the locker room before heading out. The larger room is darkened. Only a few low level lights on to give him something to see by as he dodges left for the cluster of punching bags. There's no movement or sound in the room, but Clint's confident that Natasha is there. Lurking somewhere in the room and waiting for him to slip up to rain the anger he's left her stewing in down on him.

Clint sets a flash bang arrow and half pulls it as he considers his moves. He's been planning this since before lunch. He's got half a dozen ways to go about this, but the straight and direct way is usually the best. It's not the least painful option, but it is the one that makes sure the suffering ends fastest.

He draws the arrow and releases it as he sprints out from cover. He closes his eyes before he reaches the wall and uses the scant ledges there to climb up as it goes off. Going by feel and memory he hooks an arm around a bar to pull himself up. It's darker when he opens his eyes, but he's still able to see the telling fluid motion of shadow heading his way. She's half blinded at least or he wouldn't have seen even that.

He fires off two blunted arrows before skipping over a few bars. Keeping his back to a light source as he hooks a wire from one support strut to another at what should be stomach height for Nat. He keeps moving away from it though. Making her follow him as he keeps placing the traps, mentally keeping track of where they are.

"You know, I think we really need to have a talk," Clint says when he stops to let her close the distance. He can't see her face but the outline of her body is clear enough as she stalks him down.

"All you do is talk," Nat's hand flicks out and Clint drops down. Swinging under the bar he's on and using the momentum to come back up in a crouch. Three faint clangs echo up from the floor, and Clint blocks a vicious kick with his bow.

"You know what else I do? Read through your walls of bullshit," Nat jumps nimbly over the leg he tries to use to knock her down. He pushes forward. Using his weight to force her backwards. "Why aren't you burning Steve out of your life?"

Nat keeps falling back. Partially from his actions and partially from his words. This is the part that Clint's been planning out. The moves are instinctual for them. The back and forth of blows and the subtle maneuvering as each of them try to back the other up into areas they've trapped. Clint can do this all day without giving it his full attention, and planning for it does no good.

The words, however, do need it. Nat's actions say she's already burned her connections to Steve, that she doesn't consider him as anything more than someone she has to work with, but that's pure bullshit and Clint knows it. Getting through the walls she's slammed down to make her realize that isn't going to be easy or painless.

"I have," Nat's voice is pure ice and Clint can hear the singing of a blade through the air he barely avoids.

Clint laughs and kicks out hard. A straightforward horsekick that she can't completely avoid. She dances back and to the right a few bars. "Nice, you almost sound like you mean that. Wanna practice it a few more times and see if you can convince yourself?"

It's a suckers punch, pointing out that she needs to practice and the number of people who would know that weakness can be counted on one hand. 

Nat says nothing but the flurry of strikes that comes at him makes him retreat fast. She keeps the speed up and Clint feels the heel of his left boot slide more than it should on metal. He flips backwards, letting himself miss the strut, and catching himself underneath. There's no scent to whatever she used to grease the thing with, and Clint doesn't bother trying to figure it out as he swings himself forward, using the struts like a set of monkey bars to get out of her trapped area and into his.

"You're avoiding him," Clint grunts out as he swings himself back up, keeping the heel of his left boot up so that he doesn't slide again. There's no time to wipe it clean unless she gets close enough for him to do it with a kick. "If you were really cutting all ties you wouldn't hide like a kid. You'd make it very clear to him and the whole world that Steve means nothing to you. Why aren't you doing that?"

Clint slides his bow down from where it'd come to rest during his swinging and pings two arrows of the bars at an equal distance. The one sent to the right doesn't ring as loudly and he shifts to face it in time to see Nat melt out of the darkness arm already finishing a swing.

A knife hits his shoulder, hilt first, and another glances off his elbow. Hard enough to knock him back, and her next attack makes him drop his bow. He dodges another attack by leaping across to another strut, but Nat follows him across in a split second. It's enough time for Clint to get his balance back. They're close enough to the dim lights that he can catch glimpses of her face as she dodges and then presses her own attacks. She's intent and focused on kicking his ass, but there's a tightness to her that isn't natural.

"Love's for children," Clint blocks a vicious flying scissor kick and twists. Using Nat's own momentum to throw her back. He runs forward to press her back hard with a few punches. "You either need to get a new phrase or admit you're a kid, Nat."

The words make her recoil more than his punches and Clint stops as he finishes counting down the distance. Nat feels the wire at her back in time to lean back and flip over it, but the move is not graceful. Clint's trap has worked flawlessly and he throws himself forward with an arrow in one hand that he gets to her neck even as he feels the prick of a blade at the back of his skull. Clint's holding himself above her with one hand and a foot that will be protesting later, but he keeps still. This close, there's enough light to see Nat clearly, and she's entirely on the defensive. Probably has been for a while now. "Why aren't you running from him? I thought you said you could leave any time you wanted Nat. So why aren't you?"

"What do you want me to say!?" Nat blazes sudden and fast. Most of her rage contained in her eyes even as her voice wavers a bit. Her body is painfully still though as she desperately tries to keep control of herself.

"Nothing," Clint pushes up and drops down into a crouch. Letting his arrow dangle from his fingertips and keeping any threat out of his body language. There's a burning line on the back of his neck from Nat's blade, and Clint accepts it was a decent exchange. "I just want you to think and answer for yourself."

Because she has been thinking. The frustration and anger burn hot and she uses it to her advantage as always, but it is mostly self-directed. Nat glares at him as she sits up fluidly. Still holding an aggressive stance as she eyes him. Clearly thinking about attacking again. Clint pointedly lets his arrow go, and the glare increases when it clatters to the floor.

"You don't want to burn him out," Clint says and Nat's entire face gets cast into shadow with a slight shift of her head away from him. "You don't want to end this, and you don't want to leave. You can't keep hiding though, our jobs won't allow that."

Nat sucks in a breath that sounds like a hiss and drops down from the ceiling. Clint doesn't hear her land, and doesn't go after her. She needs her time now. To think about the points he's made and the truth they both know. Nat will have to confront the fact that she actually feels something for Steve. That she might actually have a weakness.

Later, when things settle one way or another, Clint resolves to bring up the fact that she's just as bad as he is when it comes to denial. Maybe in a year or two when the chances of him getting killed for it are minimized.


End file.
